


Tip me in your smooth waters.

by JohnLear



Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Family, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love, Sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnLear/pseuds/JohnLear
Summary: In Gwen's mind, the fall lasts an eternity. In reality, it's maybe two seconds.Or the classic, girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, boy actually loves her back. Eventually.





	1. So, where do we begin?

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back :) This is Au BUT no one has a drug addiction, no one is dying, and Blake and Gwen are actually normal people *sigh* To get started, this fic takes place in Big Sur. I'm not going to have Blake and Gwen rush into bed right off the bat, hence the slow burn tag. But don't worry, when they do decide to get it on, it will be well worth the wait. There's a lot and not a lot of stuff going on in this first chapter. All will be explained of course over the next couple of chapters. Blake is injured here but only because of an accident. It was originally just supposed to be a gardening accident but how funny would it be if Adam accidently shot Blake while they were hunting in the woods because despite popular belief, Adam does actually suck at some things. But don't worry, the bullet just grazed skin. Nothing serious like puncturing organs although Blake does struggle with it. K enough spoiling, for now. The title of this fic as well as the title of this first chapter is from a beautiful song by Dodie. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far. <3

He doesn’t want to be here.

The lights in the house strobe over Blake’s skin, the pulsing bass of the music banging up against the relentless beat in his head. His injured side streaks a whispered fire across his midsection every time he takes a breath. It’s hot in here, writhing bodies sucking up all the air despite every window open at least on this floor level; he’s starting to feel decidedly nauseous. He works to keep any hint of it off of his face.

Not that anyone’s looking at him, or would be able to decipher his expression if they did. Not here in the mess of teenage bodies he's found himself in. Muddled angles and imaginary lines, impossible to get a clear picture even of the person next to you in all these mixed signals of stimuli. He closes his eyes for a moment. The lights continuing to throb in the blindness of his brain.

Blake drags his eyes back open, automatically surveying the crowded room. He had called her personal phone many times before Ana, the girl who lives down the bridge from them, told him of the late night party at the Carver girl’s house while he was taking Betty for a run. He contemplated calling Adam, but thought better of it. Not calling him only served to agitate Blake further.

The mood of the crowd, upbeat and friendly as they continue to dance to the fast-tempo sound, only furthers his irritation. All he wants is to go home, actually be able to sleep for a change.

He looks around for Sage before giving up and making his way off the “dance floor” and over to a dark corner. There's a ton of unused water bottles just sitting in a red bucket to his right and Blake wants to laugh. There's more alcohol going around and he's uncomfortable with the thought of being a bystander to the underage drinking. Nonetheless, he plucks one from the container. He takes a drink of the water roughly, willing the endless headache to ease. It probably doesn’t help that he hasn’t eaten anything today, food neither appealing nor fitting into the list of things he’d needed to get done. The car had been a disaster, and seen in the light of morning he’d despaired of ever getting the dark stains out of his creamy upholstery. It's definitely the last and only time he'd ever take Adam shooting again.

After that, he had a couple of appointments he couldn’t get out of, and a quiet visit to the doctor. By the end of it, he came out with twenty shiny black stitches and a half-hearted lecture about not coming in sooner, though the doctor had seemed to recognize the pointlessness of the speech. He hadn’t planned to go in at all, but by lunch he couldn’t deny the red still seeping slowly through the white bandage at his side.

He guesses there's some kind of junk food at this party and while he's searching for his god daughter he might as well try to force something down, to at least try and combat some of yesterday’s blood loss. The thought flips his stomach, the nausea surging dangerously up toward his throat. The air of the room flexes around him, and he has to steady himself back against the wall, his fingers locked tightly around the plastic bottle in his hand.

When the room settles again for him, he sets the bottle back in the bucket and reaches into his jean pocket for his phone. He’s working mostly left-handed today, the stitches pulling uncomfortably any time he tries to move his right arm, but he forgets that he’s already shifted his phone to the other side and spends a few fumbling moments trying to find it in its usual pocket. The backlit screen is bright in this corner, despite the competing lights around the house. He’s staring blankly at an empty text box, cursor waiting patiently for his words, when a dark hand waves for attention in the space between his eyes and his phone. Blake looks up into the grinning features of Maxwell, one of Sage’s friend from school. He’s a tall, large kid, with dark skin and even darker hair.

“Blake, my man,” Maxwell shouts, loudly enough to be heard over the music. “What’s up? You look like you’re having even less fun than usual.”

“Sir.” Blake corrects. “Have you seen Sage?”

“There's like two hundred people here.”

Blake rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing at a high school party? I hate to say it Blake but aren't you a little old to be hangin around the young crowd?”

“Me? Oh don't mind me I'm just waiting for you to do something stupid like always,” he hears himself say.

Maxwell hears it too, and his smile only gets more amused. “Come on, man, don't be like that. I'm just looking to have a good time.”

“So go do that,” Blake says. “Somewhere else.”

Now the smile flickers, or maybe it’s just a trick of the strobing lights. “Damn, Mr. Shelton. What's crawled up your ass?”

Blake sighs silently, an exhale lost under the noise of the room. “It's been a long day, Max. Not really in the mood for conversation. Especially one that has to be shouted to be heard. I just want to find Sage.”

Maxwell’s looking him over, and Blake finds himself reflexively shifting his supporting elbow off the wall to stand up straight. The sutured gash in his side protests at even this small effort. He’s confidant the younger boy can’t tell.

“Okay, man, I get that,” Maxwell finally says. “I saw her about an hour ago. She was outside on the patio...”

“What was she doing? Which one of her girlfriends were with her?”

“....Um. She uh--I don't--”

“Spit it out.”

“She was with a guy.”

“Who?” Blake demanded.

“I don't know. He doesn't go to our school, I don't think. He looked older. They were holding hands and...kissin and stuff.”

An image of her being touched and groped and kissed by some scumbag, rose so fast and unexpected that for an instant he thinks he’s going to actually throw up.

He shakes his head, an attempt to banish both the image and the moment. The song playing overhead slides seamlessly into the rhythm of the next.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” Blake asks, distracting him with a nod to the dance floor. The boy is still studying him, far too intently for his liking, but after a minute he shrugs, the smile lighting his face once again.

“You’re not known for bein a snitch Mr. Shelton.”

“No I'm not.” Blake says dismissively.

Maxwell gets the hint and nods his head respectfully, then he’s off toward the kitchen with only a backward wave.

Blake’s eyes trail him across the room, his arm coming up again to borrow the stability of the solid wall. The longer the combined assault of irregular light and deafening noise continues its relentless barrage, the more his balance is being called into question. Colors squirm in surreal reflections at the corners of his sight, his headache a tightening band around his brain. This packed room feels about thirty degrees too warm, tiny beads of sweat slithering their way slippery down his spine.

The phone is still waiting in his hand, its rounded edge pressing smooth into his palm; he brings it back up to where he can see the screen, the silent cursor still waiting for instruction. The thumping air around him is making it difficult to decide what he wants to say. Blake frowns, focuses his eyes on the tiny glass. His mouth is dry and gummy despite all the water; his tongue flicks over lips that feel close to cracking.

His head comes up fast when a sharp voice arcs over the heavy bass. It’s lost again in an instant, swallowed up by all the sound, and he scans the packed group to try and find its source. Nothing is remiss, just kids having a good time, and he’s about to write it off as nothing when a knot forms conspicuously at the edge of the crowd, spilling out into the open air of the outside. Blake curses when he recognizes at least one familiar face in the area, Abigail, Sage’s best friend.

Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he starts to make his way through the crush of bodies. The floor dips slightly and he loses his vantage over the mass of heads bouncing in time to the music. He works through the press of jostling dancers, his left arm protectively in front to forge an imitation of a path. It’s a struggle to break through the mob, every inch gained an effort. By the time he gets to the site of the disruption, he’s breathing more heavily than he’d like.

Things have escalated when he gets there, and most of the house is still moving obliviously to the steady beat, but the disagreement is starting to attract notice, the taste of tension filtering into the night air. Blake can’t hear what’s being exactly said, the senseless shouting clouding his aching head in a painful fog.

A couple of football players are closing in fast on the other side of the argument, behind a man; Blake comes up behind Sage. His hand on her shoulder is angrily shrugged off without a glance. Blake grabs her again, digging his fingers into the smooth muscle and refusing to let go.

  
“In the car. Now,” he snarls into the younger girl’s ear, having no patience for the display. Sage is surprised enough to look in his direction. The man she was arguing with, Blake has no doubts that this guy is the one Max saw earlier with Sage, takes a step forward to them. Blake notes this as he gets Abigail’s attention, gesturing with his head for them both to follow him to the car parked down at the bottom of the driveway. He starts to walk away, expecting them to be right behind.

The cool night air feels like magic when he can finally take a moment and feel it, the way it settles over his skin to douse him in its relief, and he takes as deep of a breath as he can in its freshness. The music from inside is smothered into a dull throb behind him the further he walks, but it echoes undaunted in his ears against the stillness of the rest of neighborhood. He leads the two girls down the driveway and to the end of the street.

He doesn’t have to prompt them for an explanation, their excuses tumbling over each other before he can find the energy to demand them. Away from the weighted, oppressive air of the house, he’s starting to feel extremely light-headed. Blake holds up a hand, silencing them immediately. “Save it,” he says, his words sounding rough in his ears. “I’m not in the mood. Abigail, go home before I tell your dad to come and get you.”

Abigail looks like she’s going to protest, but a hand on her arm and a small shake of the head from Sage seem to change her mind. She shuts her mouth at least, which, at this moment, is all that Blake wants. Well, that and his bed, with twelve hours uninterrupted to sleep his discomfort away. Abigail sulks as she walks further down the sidewalk to her own car.

“Blake--”

“What the hell were you thinkin?” He reaches into his pocket for his phone as he asks the question.The text on his lock screen squiggles before his eyes, not helping his mood while he waits for her answer.

The perspiration along his hairline is drying cold in the soft nighttime breeze. He realizes his hand is trembling, ever so slightly, and he tightens his grip on the phone to cut off the tremor.

“You would have never let me come if you knew there was gonna be alcohol.”

“You’re damn right, Sage.” Blake raises his voice.

“I didn't even drink anything!”

“The cops could have showed up. Do you have any idea how to explain that to your dad? What you did was stupid and disrespectful. You can't sneak out like that again. I'm supposed to be watching over you.”

Sage attempts to roll her eyes but Blake snaps a furious look her way, effectively stopping the action before it's complete.

Blake then realizes that he has his back to the way they came, a careless mistake only recognized when he hears footsteps approaching from behind. It’s the man from earlier--of course it is, he thinks, standing between him and his best friend’s daughter. It was stupid to think this thing would have dissipated so easily.

“Get out of the way. This is between me and my girlfriend,” the man says, and later there’s a small retrospective part of him that will wish he had listened. This is the second night in a row that veers unexpectedly around a sharp bend into pain.

The smaller man tries to brush him aside; Blake has his arm twisted up behind his back before anyone else can react. He swings the guy against the passenger door of his car, and feels at least a couple of stitches give. It distracts him for an instant, and he lessens his hold, causing the man to slip loose easily, missing the fist heading swiftly his way.

It lands hard and definite above the gash in his side, and for a moment he can neither breathe nor see. Just a flash flood of cold white, electric fire radiating from the point of contact outward to envelop his brain. Now comes the heat and the pain, and a smeared vision of sidewalk and booted feet. The struggle to get enough air into his lungs. He hears someone yell for him and then there's a lot of movement around him; he fights to blink it into a cohesive picture.

“Blake. Uncle Blake please...are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Blake’s working hard to stay on his feet--aided in no small part by the car beside him--but he catches the look Sage gives him, the one asking if he’ll be alright, if he’ll still be able to help her, keep her safe. When he manages a nod, Sage visibly relaxes but no less weary of the man who hit him.

A relative quiet descends again over the street, broken only by the sounds of their uneven breathing.

Or maybe that’s just him. He can’t seem to get enough air between the waves of pain spiraling out from his side. Forcing his head up to face them sends everything into a spin, something he pretends he can ignore. Blake shifts so the back of his head rests against his arm, working to find some sort of stability in all this imaginary motion.

“All right?” He gets out, not entirely sure it’s intelligible. Sage nods but grimaces at the sight of trickling blood that he swipes from his nose. It smears a little over his upper lip, a dark new mustache in the night’s deep shadows. He doesn't remember getting hit in the face, and worries for himself a little.

But at the moment he’s not even sure he can defend himself if things escalate again. He has to get Sage out of here before he throws up or passes out, neither of which he’s willing to let her be witness to. “Go home,” he tells the man, another person for the second time that night, his voice barely rising above a low growl.

“Who the fuck is this guy Sage?”

Blake only barely manages to reach for the pocket knife inside his back pocket. The blade makes a threatening sound as it’s revealed and the man automatically takes a step back.

“I said go home.”

He’s sure the guy hissed and cursed at him, threatened Sage with some useless words, but his mind is beginning to fog once more, his vision spinning at a fast pace. He barely notices when he leaves them there, something in his tone giving him no thought but to obey. The car exterior is cool and comfortingly solid behind him, and he lets his heavy eyes close for a moment against the streetlamp’s streaking white. He knows he needs to move, but he’s having trouble remembering how to get home; he still can’t grab a deep enough breath, every attempt exploding into brilliant sparkles against the darkness behind his eyelids.

The part of his mind that’s still working points out that right now he feels very close to as bad off as he did last night, when blood loss and vertigo had forced him to pull over before he ended up crashing the car, Adam offering to drive instead. Things had slipped away from him then and he’d lost more time than he meant to. He woke up in his bed, still bleeding, surprised Adam hadn't taken him to the hospital against his wishes. But losing control and time was something that can’t happen out here, not with Sage being his only companion this time.

Blake pushes his eyes open, trying to figure out where she is.

His skin tugs at his shirt as he takes another breath, and the fingers that press lightly there come back unsurprisingly slick with blood. He’s ripped a few stitches out after all, it seems, a fist fight not high on the list of recommended activities for recovery.

“Can you drive?” Sage asks softly. It occurs to him that she's helping him stand after all, holding him up with one hand while the other clutches his phone. He realizes he must have dropped it. His eyes wander over the device, can tell it’s damaged, the light glinting off a pattern of tiny cracks spider webbing across the small screen. A wash of exhaustion crashes over him, testing the tenuous support of his legs.

It turns out they’re not up to the challenge. Having little say in the matter, Blake finds himself sliding slowly down the wall to sit on the chilled concrete. His forehead falls forward to rest on his bent knees.

His blood hums loudly in his ears; a frigid layer of sweat pops on the back of his neck. If everything would just stop spinning he knows he’ll be okay; another minute and he’ll lift his head, get up and get in the damn car. He curses his weakness even as he’s uselessly overwhelmed by it.

The fucking bullet hadn’t even gone through. Blake’s sense of time is as faulty as his balance, and it’s possible he loses a few minutes out here in the dark. The next thing he’s aware of is a voice speaking softly nearby, female and concerned and far too close. He wrenches his eyes open, forces his head up. It’s several long seconds before the sloshing settles enough for him to be able to make out who it is.

He doesn't recognize the woman.

She’s on the phone, and there’s a rush of something too near to panic when Blake thinks she may be calling for an ambulance. He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He licks his lips, is about to try again, when Sage’s words start filtering through to his befuddled brain.

“I didn't know what to do. And she saw me freaking out and pulled over to help. You don't look good and we need to get you to a doctor.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

The true understanding of how sincerely fucked he was sends another bolt of adrenaline straight up to his skull, and he’s working to get his legs under him before he even knows it’s his plan. The sidewalk tips in a way concrete definitely shouldn’t do, and he vaguely registers Sage saying, “Hang on, woah! Blake, take it easy…” Before everything lurches again and there’s a firm grip holding tight to his arm.

At least he’s up now. Off the damn sidewalk.

He tries to shake Sage off, but the fingers encircling his arm refuse to budge. Maybe for the best--he’s having more than a little difficulty deciding which way is supposed to be up. His thoughts are woolen, soft and stuck together, and all he really knows with any certainty is that this is wrong. Wrong to let Sage see him like this. Wrong to be disturbing a stranger in his mess. He’s fine. Will be fine. They both will. Nobody needs to be imposed upon by this.

“Yeah, ok,” the stranger is saying. “Let me call you back.”

He tries again to claim back his arm, and this time Sage lets him go. Blake swallows against the bile in his throat, and somehow manages to find his voice. “Who were you just callin?”

“My brother. He's helping me move into my new house. I told him I was going to be a little late. Are you okay?”

It’s too hot, and he lifts his heavy left hand up to pull at the buttons of his collar. He thinks this car door under his shoulder might quickly be becoming his new best friend.

“Sage said you both got into a little trouble. I stopped to see if I could help.”

Blake’s eyelids droop dangerously; it’s enough to straighten him up again, an intentional prodding at the gash in his side giving him a short burst of painful adrenaline. It almost blinds him again, and an echo of his name in her voice drifts unexpected and sweet through his hazy mind, the one syllable tender and feathery. He thinks it's a memory of small soft fingers, wiping clean the blood from his skin. Blake rubs at his eyes, takes a rough breath.

A new flood of tingling weakness almost buckles his knees. Sage starts to reach for him; Blake recovers enough to wave her away. “Leave it,” he breathes, before the other girl can say anything. “Call your dad.” His mouth has trouble shaping the words, the complexities of complete sentences apparently beyond him.

“And say what?” She asks snottily.

“That you’re a child and we can't trust you to make smart decisions.” He replies back, vehemently.

He's angry now. Angry that the only reason he's here, in pain, weak, is because she was a stupid hormonal teenager with an underdeveloped brain.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers dejectically.

Abruptly the fight drains out of him; he simply can’t argue any more. “I know,” his voice betrays. “Let's go.”

“Do you want me to drive you two home?”

Blake almost forgot about the other woman's presence. “I can drive.”

“Uncle Blake...I don't think that's the best idea.”

“Now you wanna think of good ideas tonight? A little too late for that.” It shuts her mouth completely and Blake is grateful.

“It's really no problem.” The woman urges.

“I'm bleeding. I’ll get your car dirty.”

“I can replace a car seat. I don't think we can replace you.”

The words hit deep inside him and there seems little option now but to embrace his surrender.

She leads the way off down the street.

To say they walk for miles, Blake knows, must be a gross exaggeration; still the knowledge does nothing to dispel the impression. His shirt feels weighted and glued to him wherever it meets his skin, and he can’t help but sneak a hand under his shirt for another pointless poke at the injury. No surprise to find it still hurts; no surprise to find he’s still bleeding. He wipes his red-smudged fingers on the soft silk, already well aware the shirt is a hopeless cause.

Blake focuses elsewhere, working to marshal the rest of his energy together into keeping himself off the ground. He feels pathetic and wrung out, but there’s no spark in him left to be disgusted. One foot in front of the other. For this moment it’s the best he can do. One foot. Now the other.

He doesn't know what happens but all of a sudden someone whispers his name again, velvety and textured and low in his ear. It’s different this time, different from Sage, embellished with a tantalizing promise, and a shiver that has nothing to do with temperature or pain sneaks spidery down his spine. He’s never heard his name shaped like that, at least not in the reality of day. Rich with sweetness and care, achingly full of feeling. Husky and feminine and undeniable. He can smell shampoo, light and fresh and worryingly real out here in the night air; his eyes focus sloppily on the glint of the streetlight on the stranger’s neck and chest when he’d lifted his head to find her standing in the street in front of him, beside him, holding him up. Illumination made material, caressing fingers of sparkling light dancing their way over her smooth exposed skin. He can taste the moment’s compelling distraction, his inability to break the spell.

He’s lost for a while in this as he moves unevenly along, without the power to jump tracks in his brain even if he’d had more of an inclination to do so.

But here something shifts, a rift in the fabric of this good place. His attention slips unwanted down the shoulders of this conjured vision, down bare arms to the mottled bruising that part of him knows will be waiting at her wrists. Angry smoldering finger-shaped marks, marring the perfection of her skin. They wrap condemningly around her smaller, more fragile bones. With a spacing that’s unique to his hand.

The picture slams into him hard, both in this world and that of another, jarring him back into his body. He’s totally unprepared for this new, abrupt disorientation and his stomach pulses inarguably against the back of his closing throat.

“Stop,” he hears himself grind out to no one through tightly clenched teeth. Blake staggers a few steps away over to a lamp post, clutching at both this new solid material and his side while his empty stomach struggles to turn itself inside out. There’s nothing to bring up, but his abused body is too stupid to know this. He hopes both girls kept walking, that they’re waiting some distance ahead.

A long blink; a gap in the streaming of time. He’s sitting now, but not on the ground. His black boots are dark against the pavement, but he’s sitting on something soft. Grass.

He slumps over.

Now another unnerving tear in the fabric of his night, and he only understands that he must have momentarily checked out again when a hand on his arm opens eyes he didn’t know he had closed. Delicate fingers resting light on his shirt, a hand far too small and fair to be Sage’s. Blake drags his eyes up to her face, already sure who it will be.  
So maybe he checked out for more than a moment.

Now the wrongness of this comes back with a sucker punch to his jaw, but Blake finds that all he can muster up in response is a fuzzy and dim-witted frown. Her hand on his arm seems real enough, and if he squints he can almost make out Sage standing a few feet behind.

The scent of shampoo tickles at his nose. Her grip tightens when his eyelids slip defiantly.

“Hey hey hey,” she breathes, trying to coax him back awake. He wants to comply, but will alone is not enough to win this battle. Now her tone changes, sharpening to a point that’s honed by something that might be fear. “Come on, Blake, talk to me. You’re scaring Sage.”

It’s enough to snap his stretchy attention back, to pry open his eyes. Though he can’t seem to lift them from her arm next to his.

“What-?” He forces out, though he isn’t sure what it is that he’s asking. The woman doesn’t seem to know either, but she’s studying his face for some clue.

“My name is Gwen. I'm just here to help you and Sage get home.”

A deliberate breath brings pain but more direction, a temporary spike bolstered by agony’s artificial energy. Blake feels like he should be standing, the one taking charge. His body will only oblige in so far as helping him to uncurl minutely in the grass.

“I’m going to drive you home,” she says, as if this has already been decided. Blake wants to protest, but there really doesn’t seem to be any purpose. At least she’d said home and not hospital. “Can you get up?” she asks him.

“...Course...” he mumbles, not having any idea if it’s true.

In the end he manages it more easily than he would have estimated if asked, annoyed by the way they hover around like he’s some kind of breakable china. Her car suddenly appears out of nowhere and Blake presses his forehead against the smooth icy metal of its roof, fists deep in his pockets, waiting while the two exchange words. He can’t make out what they’re saying, but the sound of their voices roll over his head.

Her hand’s on his shoulder; she presses a button to unlock the car door. Blake lifts his head, but he hesitates before getting in. “Gonna ruin your car,” he eventually gets out, holding up his left hand when he sees her confusion. The drying blood rusty and flaking over his fingers. There’s a flicker of something that crosses her face, but it’s gone before he can catch it. She pulls an old beach towel from somewhere, draping it over the seat.

Blake watches distantly through the windshield as Gwen stops to say something else to Sage, her hand lingering comfortingly on her arm. When they both get in, he’s struck by how strange it seems to be here and not behind the wheel.

Wrong wrong wrong. It appears to be the theme of his night.

She needs little help from him to find the way to his house--thanks to Sage. Although, Gwen seems compelled to keep him awake anyway. Blake tries to accommodate, though his half of the conversation is mostly held up with grunting and the occasional murmured short answer. He watches her eyes dart in his direction whenever she thinks he’s looked away. He wonders if she intends to follow them inside when they get there.

Blake shifts his gaze out the window, grateful that they’re almost there. He rests the side of his head against the cold glass; the vibrations of the car channel into his body through this bit of skin, competing with the remembered bass that still echoes.

By the time Sage directs her onto their street, he’s fading quickly. No hope for another rebound this time--his body is telling him loudly and final that he needs to lie down before it shuts down, and that this is something it plans to do soon. They pull up into his driveway. She says nothing as she waits beside him, looking up at his house. He’s not sure what she thinks it will tell her.

“This is where you live?” She asks.

He manages a nod and the woman smiles. It's a pretty sight. “I think I'm your neighbor.”

That strikes something within Blake. He remembers words from earlier about her moving, about her brother helping her, and curses his damn luck. He's embarrassed that his new companion next door has seen him in such a state and wishes for the car floor to swallow him whole. He's vaguely aware of Sage laughing behind him, amused and excited about the information. He should be concerned, but these concerns flitter past, unable to draw his dwindling attention for long. His hand is shaking as he tries to open her door; Sage gets out and opens it for him, helping him out of the seat.

They walk slowly to his front door and Gwen helps him up the porch steps before he can trip. The door is unlocked and Betty appears from the other room to twist her way around his legs, and behind him Gwen makes a tiny noise of surprise. The dog jumps up to balance on the frame of the sofa beside him. He obligingly scratches the top of her head, throwing a longing glance toward the deep sofa cushions; he knows if he sits down there now, then the sofa will be the place he will stay.

So he leaves Sage and Gwen and his dog to push on into the bright glare of his bathroom. His clothing from this morning is on the floor by the shower, still in its discarded pile; Blake ignores it, pulling up the bottom of his second ruined shirt in two days to finally get a look at his side. The bandage is dark and heavy with blood, and the wound is angry and swollen when he peels it away. There are broken gasps from the doorway, abruptly squashed. He wishes he’d closed the door when he came in.

Gwen is the one that comes up behind him in the mirror though, Sage deciding to stay behind. Blake closes his eyes briefly, the stone countertop bites into his hipbone, cool under the flat of his palms.  
When he opens his eyes he finds her studying him, but something that he thinks looks close to recognition shifts into her expression, and instead she only says: “I have to call my brother. Finish packing up...Can I do anything before I go?”

They look at each other for a long moment, and he's fascinated how this complete stranger dropped everything she was doing to help a young girl and her family member in need. How she’s still continuing to want to help him, despite not knowing a thing about him, the only tether their houses, right next to each other now.

Blake presses his hip harder into the counter, his legs growing tired of holding himself up. “Sage can do whatever else,” he says finally, her face falling slightly. “But you can feed the dog.” Her expression perks back up. She seems relieved to be able to help; he’s happy to get her out of the bathroom.

Sage leads Gwen out with one last reassuring smile to him, and Blake stoops awkwardly to fish the first-aid kit out from under the sink when they’re gone.

He manages to get himself cleaned up and re-bandaged before Gwen returns, the ruined shirt tossed carelessly to add to the heap on the floor. He’ll deal with it tomorrow. He’s most likely going to have to head back to the doctor’s office to give the doctor a chance to repair his work.

Blake scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, flipping off the bathroom light as he leaves. He finds Gwen in the living room, absently petting his attention-driven beagle, and as he watches her, she notices, looking into his eyes first and then his bare chest. He realizes he walked out his bathroom without a shirt, so used to Sage seeing him like this, he thought nothing of it.

“What?” She’s looking up at him again, a tired smile touching her lips, and Blake wonders what expression she thinks she’s seen on his face. His hand comes up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He really needs a haircut.

“Where's Sage?”

“She said something about going to her room? Does she live with you? She called you uncle earlier…”

“Her dad goes out of town for work every couple of months. She has her own room and stays here with me until he gets back.”

She nods and smiles softly at him. The room still manages to rock around him, the thick carpet shivering under his feet.

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything else to say to her.

“Your welcome.” She replies and Blake gets the sense she wants to say something else, can practically hear the noise buzzing through her head. Unless that’s just him.

“We start moving tomorrow,” is what she eventually says, and he looks up to see her moving toward the door. He follows. “So I guess I’ll see you then.”

He holds the door open for her. “I guess so.”

Her smile is blinding and Blake wonders if he’ll ever get lucky enough to have it directed at him again after tonight. She turns to go. Turns back. Eyes her new house with something akin to trepidation; eyes back to him like there’s going to be something more. He can do little more than watch this mini war of indecision, slumped here against the doorframe. A few silent seconds later and she’s got her feet moving to descend the porch steps, one last look sent his way before she’s in her car, driving back down the road.

Blake sighs, and heads back inside. This time, he locks the front door. The air in here whispers the scent of her shampoo. He kicks off his shoes on the way to the bedroom, remembering only at the last minute that crashing face-first onto his bed will do nothing good for his remaining stitches. He slides carefully under the sheets instead, and Betty settles elegantly onto the pillow beside him.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s asleep before Sage comes back down to offer soup and water. 


	2. Signs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it's John, I forgot to mention, for the purpose of this story, Gwen is younger than Blake. The title of this chapter is from the song Signs, by Howling. 
> 
> Thanks for tuning in, this is for L.

The knock on his front door interrupts his heavy sleep. Blake tries to open his eyes, feeling the fire burning at a rapid pace. They’re dry and exhausted just like the rest of his body. When he finally cracks one open, it's to look at the alarm clock on his bed side table. It was almost five thirty in the morning. Blake groans and gives up any attempts of going back to sleep. Despite the person at the door, Blake drags his useless body upstairs, holding onto the railing until his knuckles turn white. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he quietly opens Sage’s bedroom door. A small smile crept across his face as he watched the child sleep. She was curled up in a little ball, the blankets covering everything but the top of her head. In that moment, he’s pretty convinced that no matter how much she fucked up yesterday, he has already forgiven her. He was also convinced that God made children adorable in their sleep to prevent child abuse, because no matter how badly they behaved when awake, in slumber they captured a parent’s heart. Even his heart.

He stumbles back downstairs and turns his coffee maker on. There was another knock at his front door.

At that time of the morning, he knew it could be either of two men, but he peeks through the curtain to be certain. It was with relief that he saw dark hair, and a long cream coat.

“Where's your key?”

“I don't fuckin know.”

Blake frowns. “You’re early comin back.” He held the door open for his best friend.

“Sage called me, told me everything.” Blake looks at Adam’s tired face and sagging shoulders and wonders if his own expression and posture matches.

“Everything?” Blake turns and heads toward the kitchen where his brew was almost done, leaving Adam to close and lock the door. “Did you know she has a boyfriend our freakin age?”

Adam follows behind him with a sigh. “I knew she was seeing someone but I didn't know he was that old. I don't know what to do with her. I take the phone away, she sneaks out. I ground her, she throws a fit and screams that she hates me.”

“You ever try talkin to her instead of dishin out punishments like they’re candy?”

“I don't know what to say....”

“Well you need to say something before she ends up sixteen and pregnant. Do you want some?” He offers and picks up a second handless cup from the counter when Adam nods his head.

They settle into the living room a few minutes later.

“Behati was so much better at this.” Adam admits.

Blake doesn't disagree. “She’ll grow out of it. Dusty was the same way.”

Adam shook his head and set the cup on the edge of the table. “Sage is nothing like Dusty. If it wasn't for the fact that they look alike, you couldn’t have guessed that they were sisters.”

Blake chuckles. “How was the trip?”

“Boring. How’s your side?”

“Needs new stitches, but I’ll get it taken care of later.”

“You're the worst at taking care of yourself.” Adam shakes his head fondly and stands up, making his way over to the staircase. “She sleep?”

“Do you hear teenage angst music blaring from her room?”

Adam’s laughter follows him up the stairs and Blake smiles. He takes a couple more sips of his coffee before pulling on a shirt and whistling for Betty. The beagle rounds a corner and trots excitedly beside him and as soon as Blake opens the front door to let her out, she's off on a sprint. Despite the hour, the sky is bright enough to cast the neighborhood in a soft blue hue. Blake takes a deep breath before wincing at the sharp tug in his side.

He hears voices from his right and turns to see a little boy and girl digging around in the soil bed off to the side of the vacant house that's been up for a sell for less than a month. There's a light on in the house and Blake’s memory comes crashing back to him. The strange woman, turned friendly neighbor. Blake had almost forgotten about the new addition to the neighborhood and he curiously looks at the big moving truck parked at the end of the driveway.

“Um...you’re bleeding mister.”

Blake whips his head around to the little girl, pointing at his side. He looks down at the wound and sees that it bled through his white shirt. He curses and then blushes faintly when he realizes he did it in front of the kids. Their laughter only serves to embarrass him further.

He calls for Betty just as the neighbor’s door opens. The woman--Gwen--walks out carrying two large boxes in her arms.

She struggles with her footing as she tries to avoid the many boxes and containers surrounding her already, and nearly stumbles down her porch. Gwen squeaks as her foot gets caught on a step and her footing falters. Blake steadies her with a strong hand--the other bracing his wounded side. He's out of breath already from sprinting the couple of feet to get to her in time. He managed to save her but not the items she was carrying. A small crunching sound was heard as his foot found something on the floor. They both look down and Gwen groans as the contents of her boxes litter the ground, crushed mostly under their feet.

“I hope those weren’t homemade.” His heavily accented voice asks, yanking Gwen’s thoughts away from the mess of Christmas ornaments on the floor.

“They were…but thank...you.” Her voice dies on her lips as she turns to properly look up at him. She sucks in a sharp breath. Her face looks shocked to see him and Blake can't help but to admire her surprise as well as her beauty. She was so hollowed and sharp, as if carved instead of flesh, with eyes that greeted Blake with warmth. His lips tug into a tight smile and now he was the one surprised to find that it reaches his eyes.

“Gwen, right?” His smile grew wider and his grip slowly lessened.

“Yes.” Gwen says quietly, tilting her head ever so slightly. She shook her head a little and held out her hand for a proper introduction. “Yes, Gwen Stefani. It’s Blake?”

“Blake Shelton.” He nods slowly, deliberately, and then took hold of her hand. It was scorching. “You’re moving now? Isn't it a little early?”

Gwen feels heat licking along her neck, Blake notices instantly. “I have work later and this is the only time my brother can help me move. It's not ideal...sorry if any of the noise woke you up.”

“I normally get up at this time. The garden needs to be tended to and this is the only time of the day when the heat isn't suffocatin.”

Gwen’s smile grows, and Blake watches as he leans in a little more intently. “You do have a beautiful garden but I didn't think you kept it this way yourself.” She looks around at her own rudimentary yard. “I think I have a lot to learn.”

“I could teach you?” Blake almost bristles at the flirtation and wonders where the hell it came from. He was really only trying to be nice by offering. He's about to apologize when he sees the look in her eyes. Gwen’s eyes gain a strange glint to them, her head tilts differently, just slightly, and she smiles warmly at him.

“In that case, I’ll be a pro in no time.”

Some deep part of Blake rebelled at the idea that his heart could be so intrigued by what he thought to be a mere stranger. He’s polite for the most part, gets along easily with others, but he’s never this open with his emotions. It unnerves him, and yet It didn’t stop his heart from racing at Gwen’s words, or the stirring of arousal. He can't think of a good enough response to reply back but is saved when Betty’s loud bark startles both adults.

They turn to see the kids having a tug-of-war match with the beagle over a stick.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry--guys! You have to ask before you just--”

“Hey, Gwen. It's fine.” The woman turns her attention back to him. “Really, it is. Betty loves kids. The closest she gets to one is Sage and even that's a stretch. Let them play for a little.”

“Okay, if you’re sure...How old is she?”

“I've had her for four years now.”

“She seems like a really good dog. I know Zuma has been begging me for one.”

“They must be your kids?”

“Oh no, Zuma is mine. Stella is my niece.”

Blake nods, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the new revelation. “And how old is he?”

“Eleven.”

Blake smiles, thoughtfully. “That’s a good age.” Sage and Dusty were their cutest in those years. They still had all the excitement of a child but they were gaining the maturity all young adults eventually grasped.

“I know Sage isn't yours but do you have any kids yourself?” Gwen looks at him with such warmth when she asks that Blake could feel it like a touch.

“Eventually,” he said. “I hope to maybe have one but to be honest I'm not even sure about that. I helped Adam raise his two daughters when his wife unfortunately passed...It was a hard time and I think I just got so involved and forgot about my own future. I guess other people’s kids have always been enough for me.” He shakes his head briefly, looking down. He always says too much and he knows it. Gwen probably asked to be polite, general curiosity at the most.

But then she gives his arm a little squeeze and Blake’s gaze falls on her just in time to see her looking up at him through her lashes, the curve of her mouth intimate. Blake's throat works briefly.

“That's admirable. Sacrificing part of your life so he doesn't have to feel the loss in his.” Gwen murmures.

Blake blinks. She was the only one so far who had bothered to put it like that, phrase it in such a way that made him look heroic. Truth be told, he had never stepped up in his life until Behati’s untimely demise. He thought helping Adam and the girls was for his own selfish ego. “Um, yeah, I guess. It did make me feel like I was doing something useful.”

Gwen nods to her own hand clasped tight to his forearm, fingers digging into the skin, before realizing what she’s doing and pulling back with a sheepish expression, eyes now locked onto his.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I ripped a couple of stitches out yesterday. I’ll be fine.”

She smiles at him, eyes still never wavering from his own. If it wasn't for the children's laughter piercing the moment, Blake thinks he would have stayed rooted to that spot on her yard, under that gaze.

“Well, I...I better get back to…”

“Moving?” He offers.

“Yeah, that. Moving.” She laughs softly. “Um, I guess I’ll see you around then...gardening and what not.”

“That's where i’ll be,” Blake smiles. “And Gwen, if you ever need anything, any help at all, just let me know. My door is always open.”

Tempting. Stupidly tempting to give her everything and more. Blake ran a mental checklist of any brain injuries he might have suffered in the past few days because why else would he be thinking these thoughts and acting this weird?

“I was really scared about moving but I’m really glad it was you we moved next to, Blake. Thank you.”

With one last smile, she calls for Zuma and Stella to come in and start unpacking. The kids whine about leaving the dog but ultimately follow behind the woman as she heads back into their new home. She looks back at the last second and gives him a small smile and a tiny wave. He feels laughter bubble up inside him as he returns the gesture.

When Betty starts pawing at his feet minutes later he realizes he’s been standing there, staring at their open door.

“Okay, alright, calm down. You’ll get your treat.”

* * *

He weeds the yard, and then turns his attention to examine the fenced-off kitchen garden that lies just outside the back doors of the house, where the sun is warmest. He uses the harvest for his cooking, preferring his own crop to that of the local grocery stores. When he lived in Oklahoma, he was so used to wild tangled growths--he used to pick berries and fungi on his strolls along the river--but when he moved to Big Sur after Behati’s death to help Adam, his tastes have changed to raised beds. Now that he’s getting older, it becomes harder on his back to bend over or squat in the mud, not that he minds the mess.

A quarter of the garden is taken up by a cold frame, and parsley and lettuce grows happily beneath the glass. The rest of the beds are taken up by tomatoes, eggplants, rhubarb and peppers. Dusty is the only one who ventures back here on her visits, the one most like him when it comes to the simple things in life. She finds the garden almost charming and rustic, a quiet place to read a book and get a tan. He sighs and runs a tender hand over a deeply red tomato she planted herself, and then turns to leave.

* * *

Gwen half-runs determinedly towards her neighborhood. It is a forty-five-minute jog, not that bad on a good day when the weather is nice, but the storm currently roaring above her is heavier than she estimated and she can barely see the road in front of her.

Oddly enough, it’s the damage to her phone that she feels more upset about than her drenched state. She’s taken shelter under a few awnings off in town, but as she nears the neighborhood, shelter is more and more scarce.

Gwen nearly jumps out of her skin when a car pulls up alongside her. Blake Shelton steps out quickly and he hurries over to her, his umbrella shielding her from the downpour.

"Get in the car," Blake orders. His tone permits no room for argument.

Gwen is surprised by the irritation in his face, the force and power of his tone of voice. She feels distinctly apologetic for ruining the leather seat in the Bentley. She stares at her hands in abject embarrassment, keenly aware that Blake has turned up the heat and she feels a lot better out of the rain and the cold.

* * *

Blake’s side is on fire from the new stitches the doctor sewed in him. The pouring rain doesn't help either, only serving to increase the throbbing all around the flesh wound. He gets in Adam’s car grumpily, starting the engine with more force than the younger man would have liked if he were present. The rain becomes heavier as soon as he gets on the main road. When he reaches his street, he cannot believe what he’s seeing. The wipers clear his windscreen again and he is certain that Gwen Stefani is very possibly suicidally stupid. The woman is practically running in the heavy rain with no thought of her own health. Blake tamps down the unwarranted anger and quickly pulls up just ahead of Gwen, and wades through ankle-deep puddles to the woman. 

He laments the state of Adam’s car seat's leather, but at least she’s no longer being drenched. She’s shivering, however, and Blake turns up the heat and drives home as fast as he can.

* * *

Her new neighbor does not pull up to her driveway, as the younger woman half-expected. Instead they stop right outside Blake’s beautiful house. He exits first and then opens the door for Gwen, who’s clutching her ruined phone against her chest.

"Th-thank you," she says through chattering teeth. It’s not even that cold out but being drenched in chilly water has soaked her bones and frozen her blood. "I--appreciate it."

She turns to walk across the yard to her own house but Blake takes her by the elbow and steers her to his door. "Let me warm you up," Blake says. Gwen can't even muster a protest; she’s shivering now, the chill seeming to go through her entire body, and when he guides her into his foyer, Gwen can only follow.

"Where is your car," Blake asks, pushing her to sit on the little hardwood bench by the door. Gwen is so mortified about her state of dress completely ruining the gardner's upholstery that she doesn't realize that he’s unlacing her red boots and removing her socks.

“I--my car wouldn't st-start. I had t-to walk Zuma to school and me to w-work.”

Blake stares up at her from where he’s kneeling before finally placing her shoes and socks on a dirty rug in front of a closet door. He stands up. "Stay here."

Gwen is shivering almost violently. Her head aches and she tries to clench down on her chattering teeth. She has a vague sense of being wrapped in something large and fluffy, and then being carried to a couch when her legs refuse to support her weight. She's such a baby, she thinks mortified. Blake strips her of her thin jacket and pauses. Then he passes her another towel to dry her hair with.

"M-my brother." Gwen rises and stumbles in the same breath. "My dad. They’ll both b-b-be w-worried. They’re meeting me n-next door in a c-couple of minutes."

Pushing Gwen inexorably back into the cushions, Blake ignores her words. "Sit down. Put this on. I'll make something hot for you. How do you take your coffee?"

"Wh-what?"

"There’s a bathroom just down the hall, do you remember it?” She nods. “Take off the rest of your clothes while I make something warm for you. The robe, shirt and pants should keep you dry enough. Don't worry about your family right now, you're the one caught in a thunderstorm and you don't wanna catch a fever.”

Gwen has the weird feeling that he's been in this situation before. His tone is scolding almost, like he was talking to a child but not condescending. Nonetheless, Gwen follows his instructions.

She walks into the familiar bathroom and shuts the door, putting on the grey robe after she takes off her shirt and slides into his big blue one. Her jeans are next, and Gwen towels at her legs, feeling the chill dissipate just a tad, but a tremor runs up her spine.

 _Take off the rest of your clothes._ Gwen feels nervousness kick into her gut and swallows back the tension, the little fear no matter how irrational it might be.

He’s not going to take advantage of you. He would have tried to already, she tells herself. The soft gray drawstring pants matches the robe. They are soft and thin, and too long in the leg. Of course they are, they're Blake’s. They’re all Blake’s.

She tries not to spend anymore time in the bathroom, and gathers her wet clothes quickly. Entering the living room again, Gwen looks around, taking in the browns and reds of the walls, the deer heads, the fireplace, how every piece of furniture seems to have some part of wooden infrastructure designed to it, and the tasteful warmth that breathes the outdoors as well as the affluence of a hardworking man. She sits down on the couch where she was placed earlier, and soon Blake emerges with a steaming bowl, and a plain white cup that smelled better than any coffee Gwen has ever drunk.

"Sage cooks better soup than I do," he says, his brow creasing faintly as he sets the dishes down next to her. "But I make better coffee."

Gwen drinks it a little too fast, but moans with how richly bitter the brew is. "Thank you...again." Her cheeks color and adds, "I'm sorry. My job isn't that far away but the rain just kept getting heavier and heavier."

"Why didn't you just come and get me? I would have driven you both and took a look at the car."

"Sorry. I--" Gwen’s hands tighten on the cup. "I..didn’t think of that." I don't normally ask people for help because few people offer it and even fewer follow through. She does not say the words aloud. “I guess I didn't want to bother you.”

"People who need help don't bother me. I'll put your clothes in the dryer. Finish your food, and then I’ll walk you back to your house. Sound good?”

She nods gratefully.

“I’ll take a look at your car when the rain stops. And I’ll take you to pick up your son if you still need someone.”

"You really don't--"

"Gwen, it's honestly fine.” His tone is firm, his eyes still so very kind. "Try to warm up."

He leaves her with her hot soup and scalding coffee but Gwen is sure it's not the scorching food or warm clothes that’s making her toasty.

She’s never known warmth like this. The kind where you hope but do not expect and in return you’re never disappointed. She wants more attention, more care, more respect. She’s never known how to want something like that, let alone with such an intensity.

She sips at her coffee and swallows down her soup, thanking god for all these tiny blessings.

 


	3. I see a bit of you in me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that gets things rolling. Next chapter is the boat and where we start learning more about Gwen and Zuma. I changed the title because a really awesome person named Zoe introduced me to this incredible song called River by Leon Bridges. You should give it a listen. The title of THIS chapter was inspired by the song Little Bit of You by Kevin Garrett. Happy Reading :)

It had been almost a week since that rainy day and Blake hadn't seen much of his new neighbor. After he walked her home, he got a call from Adam asking if he finished changing the brake pads in the Bentley. Gwen reassured him that her father could pick up Zuma and that her brother could help her with any repairs to the car. Blake was a little put out that he couldn't help her further but still offered his services in the future. 

After that, the days were spent gardening, helping Sage build her new dresser and fishing with a couple of guys down at the beach. He rested as much as he could to allow his side to heal but today, he spent the majority of his time teaching Prim, the little boy who occasionally brings him spice and peppermint plants, how to change a tire. The boy had a love for fixing things and Brad down at the auto shop usually let them help out on some of the repairs. He's just coming back from there when he sees it.

His blonde hair is unmistakable, small frame, and brown cowboy boots. Blake doesn't even think the boy owns another pair of shoes; he’s only ever seen him with just the boots.

Zuma is on his front step, leaning against the ugly deer stature Luke got him one year for his birthday. The boy barely stirs when Blake pulls into the driveway.

Blake gets out, surveying Gwen’s son curiously. There’s a tension in his brow and jaw that does not fade. His hands are lax, open on his lap. He watches Zuma sleep, observing the slow rise and fall of his thin chest. He looks almost peaceful, that childlike softness around his cheeks.

It’s probably two or three minutes before Blake reaches out to touch his shoulder.

“Zuma?"

The young boy blinks and then bolts to his feet, almost bowling the older man over. He hastily grabs Blake’s arm and keeps himself from toppling over. "I'm sorry," he blurts out. "I mean, I--I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

Blake ignores his apology and asks, “Why are you out here by yourself?”

“I um, I don't know where my key is to get in the house. And my mom isn't off of work. I came over here to see if you were home but you weren't and I sat down for like two seconds and I guess I just--”

"Zuma breathe," Blake says with a small smile. "It’s alright. Come on in."

"I don't--mom said I shouldn't bother you.” Zuma fidgets.

Blake looks at him oddly before nodding. “Ok. Well, I’m gonna go start on dinner cause my family is coming over and if you want, you can help me. But if you want to stay out here until she comes home that's fine too.” 

Zuma inhales deeply and makes himself look at the older man. "I don't want to get in trouble.” 

Blake nods minutely, "I get that. But I think your mom would be even more mad if she came home and you were outside all by yourself.”

Zuma licks his lips, debating between a comfortable, warm house and a hot meal, or the chilly porch, and a long wait. He swallows his pride and whatever irrational fear about his mother’s wishes.

Blake sees his surrender and his hand lands between Zuma’s shoulder blades, turning him around and gently propelling him towards the man’s front door. “You like steak?”

“Who doesn't like steak?”

“Vegans.”

“What are those?”

Blake almost laughs. “If you ever meet my friend, Adam, you should ask him.”

In the kitchen, Zuma was given an onion to chop. They both washed their hands in relative silence, sharing the older man’s sink. Blake gives the boy a knife and watches how the handle fits precisely into the curve of his palm. The blade gleams and Zuma looks over at him excitedly.

“I don't ever cook. I like to but mom does all that.”

Blake had removed his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves, not quite to the elbow, and started peeling tomatoes.

“You don't help her?”

“I ask but she always says no.” Zuma blinks down at the glint of light off the knife blade. "Where’s your dog?"

“Probably somewhere in the woods. I usually let her out when I'm gone or she’ll just be bored here without me."

"Won’t she get lost?” 

Blake laughs and takes the chopped onion from him to scrape it into a hot pan along with the tomatoes. "Betty’s a smart dog," he said. "And if she does get lost, everyone knows who she belongs to. They’ll return her as soon as they can.”

Zuma looks on as Blake takes the marinated steaks out of the fridge. “I wanna a dog.”

“You’re mom won't let you have one?”

“She says I won't take care of it.”

“Not if you don't know how. Tell you what, Betty is your dog as much as she is mine. I’ll teach you how to take care of her and then maybe your mom might get you one.”

“Seriously? You would do that?”

“Of course. Betty gets tired of seeing my ugly face anyway. She likes kids way more than she likes adults so why not.”

“That's so cool. I um–thanks Mr. S.”

Blake looks down at the meat he’s cutting and swallows, basking in the new title. He points with his knife. "Get the grill started will ya?”

Zuma nods and jumps out of his chair, sliding the back porch door open. When he comes back in a moment later, Blake is cutting a rye loaf of bread and rubbing it with garlic.

“Hey Zuma? Can I ask you a question?”

The boy opens the refrigerator like he lives there and grabs the vase of fresh squeezed lemonade. Blake smiles to himself and nods his head in the direction of the cabinet.

“Yeah, if I can ask you a question too.”

“Deal. Do you wanna go first?” Blake asks.

Zuma sets two glasses down on the kitchen island and pours his drink, then what Blake can only presume is his.

“Do you have a wife?”

Blake left the meat to stir the sauce on the stove. “No I don't.”

“Why not?”

“That's two questions.”

Zuma laughs and takes a sip of his drink.

“My turn.” The older man covers the pan and turns the burner on low. He holds his hand out for the glass of lemonade and Zuma graciously hands it to him. “Are you happy here?” He asks after he swallows.

Zuma takes a breath and lets it out again, looking uncomfortable. “That's not what people normally ask me.”

“What do people normally ask you?”

“That's two questions.”

Blake gives him an amused glance.

“I guess I'm happy. The school down here is nice, and I already made some friends. My mom really wanted to move and she seems less stressed out. So I think she's happy, which makes me happy.”

“I wanna ask you another question, Zuma.”

“It's not your turn.”

“Okay.” Blake relents. The boy is trusting him enough to open up as it is, Blake doesn't want to push.

“What kind of things do people keep secret?" Zuma asks.

"Things they want to keep safe," Blake said, after a moment's pause.

"But some secrets aren't safe to keep."

“I agree...is there a secret you got that isn't safe to keep?”

Zuma shakes his head.

“Alright. Well, if you ever do need to talk--”

“I will.” He says hurriedly. 

Blake doesn't know what to say to him next, so he grabs a plate and transfers all the steak slices onto it. He gestures to the grill wordlessly and Zuma follows behind him. Outside the air is still hot but a degree cooler than it was before. The grill is ready and Blake places each steak on the rack, watching as hot coals bake them in a smoky fire. He lathers the meat with a garlic and lemon glaze he made last night.

“Where did you and your mom move from?"

“Anaheim.” Zuma stands right next to him, looking over his arm at the sizzling steaks.

“Why'd you guys move?”

"I dunno. Mom never talks about it."

"Did your mom get the car fix?”

Zuma shrugs. "Some days it works. Some days it doesn't.”

Blake tampers down his annoyance. “How do you get to school on the days it doesn't?”

“I wake up at five, mom walks me, and I wait for the school to open. She usually has to go to work right after she drops me off."

“You walk home?”

“She doesn't get off in time to pick me up.”

Blake hums.

“My mom never makes steak,” Zuma says thoughtfully.

“What does she make?”

Blake flips the steaks over and takes a sip of his drink.

"Whatever we buy...whatever I can heat up." Zuma shuffles his boots against the porch wood. "Please don't judge."

Blake sighs. "You're still growing. That can't be the healthiest."

"My mom’s doing what she can."

The older man looks over at the teenager. "I didn't say anythin against her."

"Yeah but you were thinking it," says Zuma, suddenly angry and upset. He pushes away the emotions. "I don't want to talk about it. Please."

Blake turns back to the grill and they stand in tense silence. Zuma tugs at his sleeve.

“Listen, Zuma. I meant no disrespect. I think your mom is great.”

“I don't wanna talk about it. It's not important.”

“Words are important, even when they're hard to hear."

"They don't mean anything. They never do."

"They mean everythin. If they didn't, they wouldn't hurt you so much.”

“Please don't,” Zuma begs. “I'm okay.”

The boy could practically feel his neighbor’s hesitation, and then he feels a firm hand petting him awkwardly on his head. Zuma almost laughs. Blake hasn't comforted a child since Sage was little.

"You don't have to just be okay, Zuma. It's alright to not feel okay." Blake’s hand pauses on the back of Zuma’s neck. He then says, very quietly, "The loneliest people don't know they’re truly alone because the company they keep is just a filler. If you ever want--need someone there, really be there, for and with you, you know you can always come on over. I worry about you.”

Zuma’s breath catches. He wants to say,  _ you don't even know me,  _ but the realization that someone else cares is heady. After an intense internal struggle, he nods tightly. He doesn't trust himself to speak. Blake resumes stroking Zuma’s hair until the young man gets a hold of himself. "Sorry," he says. "I don’t mean to worry you."

"Someone should be," Blake says gravely.

Zuma shakes his head vehemently. "My mom cares. She's a good mom."

“That's not what I'm sayin. But somethin’s goin on with you. I know when a kid is upset. And I wanna help. What kind of parental figure am I if I didn't?”

"The kind that's not mine," Zuma snaps, injured pride retaliating.

Hurt flashes over Blake’s gaze. Zuma looks away and covers his eyes with the backs of his hands. There was a loud knock at the front door, loud enough to travel through the house and into the backyard through the open porch doors.

“Zuma, flip these for me and then close the lid.” Blake pats his back comfortingly before going back inside.

Once the older man reaches the foyer, he flicks the hall light on, illuminating Gwen’s face through the frosted glass, and after a click of sliding locks, he swings the door open.

“Hey--”

“Zuma’s not at home and he doesn't have a cell phone so I can't even reach him and he doesn't know the area that well and if he gets lost something could happen to him--”

“Gwen. Gwen he's here. He's in the back helpin me cook dinner.” Blake interrupts her.

The relieved expression upon her face was so genuine that any doubts or reservations he might have had almost dissipated quickly.

“He said he forgot his key.”

“Oh my god.” Gwen breathes in and then out heavily. “I was calling the house phone and when he wasn't answering I told my boss I had to leave because something was wrong...I’m so sorry to bother you with this.”

"It's no problem." He waves a tan hand vaguely towards his living room. "You want to come in? The steaks are done."

"We don't have to stay. I'm sure you want to be alone..or with your friend and his daughter." Gwen says awkwardly, digging her hands a little deeper into her pockets. "I’ll just get Zuma."

“It's really no problem. I made enough for everyone.” 

“We really can't stay.”

Blake’s gaze narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Right," he says, and steps back, holding the door open so Gwen can step past him. He shut it afterwards, his eyes never leaving her. “It's through the kitchen.”

She follows behind him until they reach the backyard. Zuma is lifting each steak one by one onto a plate Blake brought out earlier.

“Thanks Zuma.” Blake takes the plate from him and shuts off the grill.

“I didn't want them to burn.” He says, turning around and startling at the sight of his mother. “I'm sorry. I don't know where my key went and Mr. S said I could help him and I was really thirsty.”

Gwen shakes her head and pulls him into a tight hug. “I'm not mad. You just scared me.”

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles again into her shirt.

She runs a soft hand through his blonde hair and kisses the top of his head. “Thank you.” She looks up at Blake.

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay. Uncle Todd is gonna pick us up for dinner so let's go home and get ready.”

Zuma steps out of his mother’s arms, a perturbed look on his face. “Can we stay and eat with Blake? His family is coming over.”

“Zume…” The woman sighs.

Blake hears the struggle warring in her head and it reminds him of Zuma’s internal struggle earlier, when the older man found him sleeping on his porch. And it shocks Blake that the boy wants to stay with him, despite their tense conversation earlier. It shocks him even more that he wants to see Zuma well-fed, the hollows of his cheeks just a little more filled out; he wants to see Zuma comfortable to talk about any and everything with him; he wants to see Zuma learn to appreciate the outside and the ocean here in Big Sur. He wants Zuma to play with his Betty and then eventually get a dog of his own. He wants Zuma to be free to do and learn everything he wants, just like his childhood was.

The desire to see someone else happy, someone besides Dusty and Sage is unfamiliar to Blake, and he turns his head sharply at the mother and son. 

“Tell you what, how about you both come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ve been meanin to take Sage and Adam out on the boat and the wind is supposed to be perfect for sailing. I’d love to take you both out on the water.”

Zuma looks up at his mom half expecting the other hoping. Gwen’s gaze flickers between them both and after several minutes of silence, she relented.

“If you’re not busy, okay? We don't want to be in the way.” Gwen says.

Blake blinks. “We like to go around noon. Is that good?”

Zuma nods enthusiastically. “That's perfect. Right mom?”

Gwen nods as well and tries to smile, but it comes across as a grimace. “Come on, we gotta get home. Thanks again, Blake.”

She doesn't wait for Blake to walk them to the door, and he stands outside until he's sure they're already inside of their own house. He takes the steaks and glasses of lemonade back inside. Adam and Sage will be there shortly. 


	4. I hope you find some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's Lennox. Some stuff has come up in my life so please bare with me. I am so sorry for taking forever to update but hopefully this makes up for it. The title of this first chapter is from a beautiful song by To Kill A King, called So My Friends Want To Marry. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far. <3

Adam sunbathed on one of the cockpit’s benches. He stretched out in the sunshine, shirtless, sunglasses on, chin upturned as he breathed the moist air. Blake watches him with a small smirk. 

“You look like you’re havin fun...” The only indication that Adam had even heard his words, a small incline of his head in the direction of Blake’s voice. “Considerin’ you didn't want to come at all today.”

The younger man licks his lips but stays silent. Blake shakes his head, amused, and turns his attention back to the ocean, the salty air filling his senses, happily.

He enjoyed how the wind moved the hair on his chest and legs and tickled his beard around his mouth, but it did not fill the sails for more than a few moments before dropping off for an hour. His hair lightens and his skin darkens the more he goes out on the sea, extending his grizzled look all over, but he enjoys it way too much to stop anytime soon.

He looks at his watch and realizes it's been four hours since they took the boat out. Blake runs his hands through his hair and sits up. It was already too warm this morning and he was, in fact, sweaty. He needed a shower but he looked towards the low deck cabin where Gwen was sleeping and decided to use the bath in the main stateroom instead.

He was buttoning his shirt as he climbed up to the fly bridge and saw Sage drinking coffee.

“Where's Zuma?”

“Dad’s helping him blow up the floats,” she smiles and looks behind Blake expecting to see their new neighbor and grins madly. “She’s been sleeping for awhile. Exhausted her, huh?”

Blake rolls his eyes and pours himself a cup. “She doesn't feel good, you know that.”

Sage shrugs her shoulders, sipping her coffee neatly. “Who even is she? Like what does she do? Why did she move here?”

Blake frowns, “I’m not sure. I don't know a lot about her but her kid...he's a good boy. I just want to do something nice for them, welcome em’ to the town.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“She's kinda hot.”

Blake hums, “You should ask her out.”

“Ha ha. You should ask her out.” Sage retorts.

“You wanna know why I love the sea. The smell. All that salty air. There’s nothin like it. I know I’m home because the air is fresh and doesn’t smell like shit and pollution. But what I really love about it, is that it's quiet out here, at least until you start opening your teenage crazed mouth.” Blake says with his eyes closed and resting his head back on the lounge.

“Anybody ever tell you how bad you are with people,” Sage points out.

“Many of times.” Blake laughs.

Sage shook her head. “I just think you should put yourself out there. And you’ve never invited anyone out on the boat before.”

He shrugs, doesn't want to delve into this conversation. The truth was, he was tired of being alone but not so tired that he would put his heart back out there only for it to get burned again.

“You know there's always someone else. Someone ready to love you when you least expect it,” Sage finishes sincerely.

Blake tenses and a pain aches in the side of his ribs. He knew all too well about trust and betrayal. After the last one, Blake promised himself, never again. He would not go down that road. As much as he genuinely liked casual dating, he still kept his distance with a wary eye. Gwen and Zuma were becoming a different problem entirely. He more than enjoyed the boy’s company and his mother was slowly becoming an oddity to him, something he wanted to understand and get to know as much as it might pain him to do so. She was surprising and Blake couldn't help but to let his thoughts wander into uncharted areas. Areas he hasn't visited in years. He’d be lying to himself if he said that he hasn't thought about Gwen in that way. She  _ was  _ beautiful. He  _ did  _ entertain the notion of her belonging to him completely as he made her moan and cry out his name. Had he been tender with romantic words, Blake is certain she would not give any man the time of day. Blake had everything to give her and she could easily be the woman he ultimately wanted if he would only open up and let her in. But that road was far too treacherous. The path his feet were on now would only lead to one end and she wasn't on the other side of it.

A delicious smell wafted up from below and the woman in question walked up the steps with a sweet smile on her face. Her blonde hair was pulled back by two small clips on either side of her temples and she wore a light tank top and a sheer skirt. “Are you guys hungry? I thought I'd do something to say thanks for having me and Zume.”

Blake and Sage look at each other curiously. He didn't even know she had awoken. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know...I want to.”

“I’ll help, then.” Blake blurts out, surprising not only Sage and himself, but Gwen as well. “Sage go help your dad.”

The teenager smiles at him but doesn't protest, standing up and carefully making her way across the bridge.

“Blake...I–”

“Come on. You can thank me in the cabin.” He teases.

Gwen smiles bashfully and follows him down. To Blake’s surprise, he finds a nicely set table for five. Fresh coffee and buttered toast, already ready. “I don’t know how everyone takes their eggs but the sausage is almost done,” Gwen tells him as she returns to the small stove.

“You’re amazing,” Blake says, absently. Gwen flushes at the compliment. “Sage and I like fried.” Blake sits down and pours a new cup of coffee.

“Adam doesn't eat eggs, or meat. But I have some tofu in the fridge.” 

She nods to herself and cracks two at a time in a bowl.

“Zuma really likes it out here. He's never been on a boat before.”

“I'm happy he's happy.” She flashes a small smile his way and Blake returns it. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Much. Thank you...I think I'm just stressed from the move and a new job.”

Gwen turns the burner on and pours the battered yolks. Blake moves to stand and help when he feels a slight pain at his side again. He grunts and bites his lip when it takes an obvious effort for him to pull himself up. He stops once upright, leaning his weight on the top of the counter. Gwen walks over to him, immediately.

“It's just my side.” He reassures her. “It hurts from time to time.”

Her long fingers gently pull up his shirt, skin grazing softly against skin as she does. Her gaze flickers up to his own before moving back down to his side. She pulls back the bandage inspecting the now healing wound. “How long before the stitches come out?”

Blake watches those soft fingers touch around his ribs. She was so close that he could smell her perfume. She really smelled good.

“Should be soon.”

“You want any ice?”

“Gwen.”

“Yes?”

“The eggs.”

The woman jumps immediately to the stove again and Blake smiles, watching her set to work. Blake rights his shirt and goes to the mini fridge and pulls out a tray of fresh cheeses and strawberries. A second’s hesitation and he grabs the pack of mushrooms and bell peppers. He places a small saucepan on the stove with dark chocolate to melt on the back burner.

“In the cupboard under the counter there’s a Barolo, courtesy of Adam. If you want a drink, of course.” When Gwen finished with the eggs, she looked under the counter and found several bottles of wine, cognac and spirits. Blake could have gotten roaring drunk several times over with this stash and almost laughed at how Adam always insisted that they do. Gwen pulls out one bottle after the other and finds what she thought he was asking for.

“Bruno Giacosa?” She hopes she pronounced it correctly.

“La Rocche del Falletto…” He replied.

“I’m Italian and even your accent is better than mine.”

Blake chuckles, “I only know my alcohol. The rest I'm shit at. Oklahoma boy, remember?”

Gwen grins and sets the wine on the counter. The wine glasses hang from under another cupboard by the sink. She knew what glass to use and set one down by the bottle.

Blake turns around with a chef knife and cutting board. He looks at the single glass confused. “You don’t drink?”

“Not usually.”

“Do you like wine?” Blake began seasoning the tofu and mincing the herbs.

“I drank champagne and some white wine before but really haven’t had any reds.” Gwen inspects the bottle and wonders if she would like it. Blake handed her a wine key. At her panicked expression, Blake came up behind her, briefly.

“Cut around the lip...here...and remove the foil.” He points to the top of the neck of the bottle. Gwen turns the key in her hand and finds the little blade. She did as he instructed and pulled off a small round disc of black and gold foil. Blake was finished with the herbs and placed the tofu in the skillet of the center burner of the gas stove. “Put in the screw and keep it straight.”

She screws it down into the cork and is about to try and pull it out when he stops her. “You’ll break it that way. Screw it down a little more and angle the handle with the lip of the bottle.” Gwen pulls the metal edge out that he pointed to and figures it out. The cork gave a loud pop and she was about pour him a glass when he stopped her again.

“Let it breathe for a minute.” He hands her the knife next and a handful of mushrooms. “Slice those for me, please.”

Blake pours a little wine into his glass and inhales,  furrowing his brows. It wasn’t ready to drink and Adam would be pissed if he soured the Barolo. He pours another glass and sets them both aside. He then returns to the stove stirring the tofu and browning a bit of butter in the skillet. He throws in the pre-cut bell peppers and mushrooms when she’s finished. The herbs get tossed in to coat the mixture.

“You should be a chef.” Gwen says, watching in fascination.

“Don't say stuff like that until you’ve tried it,” he teases once again.

She smiles and leans against the counter, arms folded underneath her breast. Blake looks away. “What exactly do you do?” She asks, not unkindly.

“Not much. I have a bar and restaurant in Oklahoma and Nashville. Most of my income comes from them, and the rest are little odd end jobs around the town. Adam and I mostly share our money. He makes enough for the both of us, truthfully.”

Gwen flushes and looks down. “That sounds...good. Great, actually.”

“We do alright. Most of it is to make sure Dusty and Sage are good. College is expensive and even though Dusty is almost done, Sage will be right behind her.”

“You would make a beautiful dad.” As if the words weren't meant to be spoken aloud, Gwen freezes. “I'm sorry–that–I just mean–”

“Thank you.”

She stares at him with big eyes but nods nonetheless. Then flashes him a smile that makes his stomach flutter. God, she really was beautiful right now and Blake chides himself for being attracted to her.

Blake grabs the bottle of wine and tosses an ounce or two in the pan. He shuts off the fire and picks up the china off the table, walking back over to the stove. He plates the sausage and eggs with the cheese and fruit and spoons the tofu stir fry for Adam. She takes all the plates, as well as the chocolate sauce, and sets them at the table. She hears soft music playing before Blake follows her with the wine and three glasses setting them down. He grabs two glasses of orange juice for Zuma and Sage, as well.

“Before I go get everyone, can I ask you a question?” Blake says.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you move?”

The question stills everything in her body and Blake regrets the words as soon as he sees the affect they have on her.

“You don't have to answer that. I thought–nevermind.” He turns to head back up the cabin but her hand on his arm stops him. His eyes land on hers cautiously, and he sees the fear there but also something else, something he can't place.

“Gwen–”

“Zuma’s father.”

Her voice is quiet but cuts like ice and Blake would have flinched if not for the hot temperature in the cabin. She doesn't say anything else and Blake wouldn't dream of pushing for more.

_ The boy’s father. That's it. Two words, one man, and she's here. With me. _

Blake picks up his and her glass, handing it over slowly. Gwen looks puzzled, still on guard but takes it graciously.

“Drink with me. To new beginnings.” Blake hears the clink of the crystal watching her take a tentative drink. He sips his own, the flavor bold in his mouth, and studies her. “What do you taste?”

She sips again and this time focuses on the flavors. “Plums...spices...chocolate?”

The wine was dry but velvety. Just like him. Blake smiles as she tries to place the ingredients.

“I think it tastes like a fresh start,” he offers. “Do you like it?”

It was peculiar the way he looked at her. He wasn’t leering or openly flirting. He was attracted and didn’t hide it but he also wasn’t trying to seduce her either. His body language, tone of voice and the way he spoke to her like a woman and not some broken or damaged girl with a kid. It was provocative, welcoming, warm.

“It's different.” She swallows. “Tastes heavy.”

He sips his wine and keeps watching her. “Feels heavy.”

Gwen nods.

“Feels like your heart.” Blake says and dips a strawberry in the chocolate and hands it to her.

“How did you–”

He shakes his head. “Take it.” Tentatively, she takes the piece of red and while his piercing eyes gaze at her, she takes a bite. She doesn't look away as a bit of juice runs down her bottom lip. “Now, taste the wine.”

Every vein pulsed in her body as she sipped the wine. The flavors that melded in her mouth were sensuous and bleeding and Gwen savored every release of it. Blake takes a bite of his strawberry and his eyes never leave hers as he repeats her actions. “I’ve been hurt before too. That kinda pain weighs you down.”

“You’re–that’s–”

“Mom?”

Both adults look at the eleven year old as he rounds the stair corner. Adam and Sage follow behind him and Blake regretfully takes a step back.

“Yes, I'm starving.” Sage exclaims as she sees the prepared food on the table. Their conversation is put on pause as everyone sits to eat.

Gwen was dying over how good the tofu was; Adam was more than happy and willing to share. Blake really was an amazing cook. She almost had to stop herself from devouring it like an animal. The conversation was light and easy making her feel extremely comfortable. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the company or perhaps both. Sage asked her about her childhood and oddly enough she felt at ease discussing it with them. Gwen wanted to know their interests and if they had any talents or hobbies.

Blake appeared to be pleased that her first ever concert was a country artist and that she liked writing music. Adam knew everything it seemed about politics and business and rock and roll. Blake especially made sure to include Zuma and Sage in the conversation and Gwen found herself leaning her chin on her hand listening to Blake and liking him more and more. If this had been a date, she probably would have been hooked. But it wasn’t a date and he wouldn't even be interested in her in the first place. At least not long term. But she couldn’t imagine him doing this with other women though. Gwen really didn’t know what to make of him. He was a fascinating person.

Fascinating but also extremely dangerous she reminded herself. She couldn't get involved with him even if she wanted to. Their breakfast plates had been empty for some time and Gwen didn’t know what time it was.

Blake stands and picks up the plates taking them to the sink.

“Hey Blake, can you teach me how to water ski?” Zuma asks.

Blake chuckles, “The most I do is fish or swim buddy. If you ask Sage I'm sure she would be happy to teach you.”

The boy does just that and before Blake knows it, both kids are on the swim platform and Adam is getting the hot tub started up on the upper deck. He’s aware of how Gwen hangs back to help him with the clean up.  

“I haven't had chocolate covered strawberries since I was a girl.” She’s flushed with wine and fuzzy movements on his part tell him that he is too.

Blake looks to the left over strawberries and chocolate and smiles wickedly. “If you wash these dishes, I’ll let you have the rest.”

She laughs and makes her way over to the sink. “I might be a little tipsy for this.”

“Tipsy still gets the job done. Just don't cut yourself on the knives drunky.”

He was teasing her, she knew, but at the same time she liked it. She had enough wine, that when she actually did come close to nicking herself, it didn’t bother her at all when Blake laughed and went to stand next to her. It was a bit awkward the way he was bent over her arm to help her and suddenly he stopped.

“This isn’t working. I can’t see what the hell I'm doin.” Before she can say a word, he shifts her in front of him and her stomach digs into the counter’s edge. She braces her wet hands on the granite for support as she feels him pull her long hair out of the way to see over her shoulder. Gwen tries with all her might to control her breathing. Without asking, he presses her thighs apart slowly to stand behind them, comfortably.

Gwen grips the edge of the granite as he reaches both arms around and washes a plate delicately. Gwen forces herself to breathe and covers his hands with both of hers. She can feel the heat of him and the smell of wine on his breath as he focuses on the task. They were only washing the dishes but in this moment it was one of the most erotic things in her life in the way his fingers brushed over the flushed and sensitive skin of her hands and his hot breath on her neck.

She feels his index finger caress her thumb and her nerves kick in.

“Blake?”

He hums and the vibrations course through her neck. “Blake, I–” Her mouth was dry and his own ghosted up to her ear and breathed.

“Stop.”

Gwen’s eyes widen and she was speechless when he pulled away completely, just like she asked. She feels tears spring to her eyes.

She struggles with something, anything to say to explain herself but Blake takes a step back. She turns around just in time to see him take the last gulp of his wine and start walking to the cabin steps. He stops and suddenly returns as if forgetting something.

“I'm sorry.”

She was so confounded by his apology. He didn't do anything wrong, it was her, and he needed to know that. The words never came out.

“I'm gonna get some air,” he mumbles and turns around again. He ascends the stairs one by one, taking her confidence and her laughter and most of all, her freedom, with him. 

 


	5. My lover is a day I can't forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again, I know I'm the worst. Here is a super long chapter to make up for it. The title of this first chapter is from a beautiful song by CUCO, called Lover Is A Day. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far.

The yacht makes a slow turn around the bend and Gwen can see the bay spread out in front of them. It was late afternoon now and the early start of the descent of the sun played beautiful tones of gold and pink upon the blue water. 

The homes here were magnificent. Stunning mansions along the waterfront and ones that cut into the hills. When she was a little girl, her family had lived on the other side of California, away from all this decadence. Her home was comfortable, had a rustic charm tucked away into a little neighborhood. Anaheim made Gwen feel very cut off from the rest of the landscape California had to offer.

Blake steers the boat along the bay and starts up a drift. Gwen holds her son closely as they both look to a lovely house sat edge of it. The house sat a couple of feet away from the dock with lush greenery surrounding its grounds.

“Where are we?” Gwen asks to no one in particular. Everyone except Blake are standing on the front deck. The Oklahoman is up on the flybridge directing the boat to glide to a relative smooth stop along the port. The vessel floats steadily and Gwen sees Sage tie the ends of the boat to the wooden posts with rope, anchoring them effectively and Gwen wonders if she should be helping.

“That's her favorite part,” Adam says coming up beside her. His dark sunglasses hide his eyes from the bright sun. “This is our bay house. Whenever we go sailing we stay the night here.”

Gwen and Zuma’s eyes both widen but for entirely different reasons from each other. Zuma is ecstatic. He’s never been out on a boat, never been to a vacation home such as this. It’s exciting and new and probably a dream he never knew he had, come true. Gwen is shocked, worried, pleasantly comfortable to get away from the new life she's tried to make for not only herself but her family. Being out on the water, seeing this home tucked away by the ocean and the sun and the nearby people, is like being out in another world. She wasn’t expecting it, wasn't prepared for it, but she's happy they came along.

“He didn't tell you?” Adam asks, watching as Zuma runs from his mother’s arms up to the fly-bridge where Blake presides, still.

She shakes her head.

“He probably wanted to surprise you guys. My daughter, Dusty, has a ton of nice clothes she leaves here. And Blake’s nephew is about the same size as Zuma so you don't need to worry about what you’re gonna wear. And we have extra toothbrushes and stuff.” The younger man smiles, reassuringly.

Gwen doesn't know what to say in return, so decides on returning his broad grin.

To the east was a panoramic view of the bay with city lights of Big Sur in the distance. It would be dusk soon and Gwen thought it would be beautiful to watch the sunset from here.

The boat finally stops rocking and Blake turns off the engine. Gwen is still watching the house when Zuma calls for her. She turns around and stops breathing air into her lungs for a moment. Blake is walking toward her carrying Zuma on his back. Her son has his arms draped around the older man’s neck, his right hand placed neatly, unintentionally over Blake’s heart. Zuma is smiling and saying something in the man’s ear. Blake laughs abruptly. As they draw closer, Gwen tries to get herself under control. Since her mini freak out earlier, they haven't talked. Blake has been up in the fly-bridge since, and Gwen’s tried to learn how to play chess with Sage and Adam.

“Mom! Blake let me help him steer the boat in place.”

“He did?”

“He said he’ll teach me the next time we go out.”

Blake shifts Zuma slightly in his arms and does his best to look at her. “If you let me…” Blake adds unsure.

Gwen’s chest tightens. Her behavior had caused Blake to doubt his place with them.

“Whatever you guys want,” she tries to smile reassuringly.

Blake looks away at the sight and gingerly bends down to set Zuma back on his feet. “Zuma why don't you go look around the house. You can pick out your room.”

The boy beams.

“The green room is the best in my opinion,” Adam says, coming behind the young boy. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Adam gives Blake a brief look that Gwen can't decipher and places a hand on the back of Zuma’s head, giving him a little push.

Blake’s eyes follow the tattooed business man until they’re both off the boat.

“Blake–”

“I hope ya don't mind me taking you guys here. I had a feeling if I told you, you would’ve said no. That is was too much and honestly, I needed a little getaway to relax and it looked like you did too.”

Gwen wasn't expecting that and it must have showed on her face, for Blake actually awarded her with a tiny knowing grin.

He clears his throat, “Look...earlier was...I wanna blame the wine. I wasn't tryin to make you uncomfortable–”

“You didn't–”

“Regardless, I hope you can forgive me. Tonight there's a party down at the beach and I want you and Zuma to enjoy yourselves.”

He left her wordless as he exited the boat, but didn't leave without her. When she turns, he’s holding the door open for her, waiting patiently. She goes to him and they walk to the backyard gate, where Blake enters a code. The heavy iron opens automatically. The garden is spectacular as she walks along the perfectly placed flagstones. Palm trees, pines, lush green shrubs and bright palette of flowers. There was a little waterfall and stream to her right, a grand marble pool and outdoor bar to her left. Nothing could have prepared her for this oasis outside the city. It didn’t seem like him at all or maybe it did. How would she know?

This man had so many different facets to him. He was the owner of a bar and restaurant, a gardener, a man who takes care of other people’s children, and God knows what else. He did odd jobs for the community and was overall a very honest and genuine person. But he was dangerous to get involved with, a risk, an eventual downfall. Gwen felt disappointment settle in the pit of her stomach. She wanted nice things, a nice man, a nice future to grasp onto and hold tightly. She shouldn’t want it, cause she knows it will get taken away from her. Yet, here she is walking in a beautiful backyard next to a man that seemed to be very much the kind of fixture she needed in her life.

Blake opens another large iron and glass door into a grand foyer. The décor was a mixture of the old and new world. The building itself was very modern in it’s design but Blake–or Adam–filled it with relics, artwork and furniture that were from another world, another time. The contrast between a hand carved wardrobe from India, weathered with age and the new age architecture was brilliant. Clearly, Adam was the lover of art. A massive wool, Persian rug lay across the stone floor and Gwen was afraid to even step on it. There were deer heads mounted to the far wall and wooden carved infrastructure that started from the open kitchen all the way down to the end of the hallways.  _ Hallways.  _ The house was huge and beautiful in every way. It felt warm. The sound of everyone’s feet padding across the floor echoed somehow and nothing else could be heard except the excited chatter from the children and the waves crashing against the shore below.

“How long have you guys been coming up here?” Gwen asks without thinking.

“A few years now. I don’t stay here as often as I would like. When Behati died...we kinda took a break. This was her favorite home.” Blake walks into the large sitting room that overlooks the bay. Floor to ceiling windows span the entire room in a semi circle that made it feel completely open to the outside.

“Houses?”

“We have another one in L.A. And then of course my ranch in Oklahoma.” Blake steps behind what looked like a bar and started tinkering behind the counter.

“I’m making a drink, do you want one?” He didn’t look at her as she wandered around the room observing their collections, mainly instruments.

“Yes, please.”

Blake and Adam completely baffled her. Their friendship was unheard of, their loyalty and love for one another was unprecedented. She was almost envious of the life they had, for all intents purposes, together. She’s sad it took Adam’s wife dying to bring them closer. But what really confused Gwen was the near perfectness that Blake seemed to encompass. He was smart, kind, caring, even thoughtful. He was attractive on so many different levels that it scared the hell out of her. After what happened on the boat, she was rather nervous to be in his vicinity, especially now when it seemed like they were alone, at least for a few minutes.

Yet, there he stood making drinks. He didn’t leer at her, didn’t touch her, and didn’t say another word about it. Once again, just like at breakfast, she felt completely comfortable with him.

“I like sprite and a lot of vodka. I'm guessin you like vodka and a lot of sprite?”

Gwen smiles, “Yes, thank you.”

She looks out the windows and off to the side of the patio to the swimming pool. She could see stairs that led down the rocky cliff to the shore. The mast of the boat could be seen from here.

Zuma came running down the white carpeted stairs in a flash. “Mom my room is literally a forest, you have to come and see!”

He was pulling her hand to get her to move and Gwen looked back at Blake. “Zume wait.”

Blake’s phone rang out suddenly and his face was full of surprise as he looks down at the screen. Whoever it was, he wasn’t expecting them. “Go on, I gotta take this. I’ll be here when you come back down.”

She nods and allows herself to be dragged up the stairs, his phone call weighing heavy on her mind for some abhorrent reason.

 

* * *

When Gwen comes back from viewing every themed bedroom in the house and eventually picking her own, she was met with an empty downstairs. Sage was in her own room listening to music on her computer and Zuma was playing on the Xbox conveniently left in his room. Adam was nowhere to be seen and neither was Blake. Feeling a little put out, Gwen changes into one of the bikinis she can only assume was Dusty’s.

There was a little cabana by the pool and Gwen found towels, blankets, and some sun screen lotion, oddly chill, as if the cabinet she found it in was temperature controlled. She’s not surprised at this point.

Gwen wraps the soft blanket around her and lays back in the lounge chair, the drink Blake made for her nestled in one of the cup holders. It was hot but she needed the security and comfort only a thin covering could do on days like this. Gwen could feel the effects of the alcohol and her mind kept running back to the breakfast incident. The way he touched her, breathed against her skin...when his finger brushed against her thumb gently. She was actually jealous of every woman he's ever been with. It was ridiculous, but clearly that's all she's been reduced to. She didn’t want to think about it or him. She didn’t want him. He was too nice for her anyway and too much trouble. Getting involved with a man like him was a bad idea.

She pulls the blanket up around her and closes her eyes for a moment. Gwen’s thoughts drift away with the lull of the vodka and salty breeze from the bay. She must have fallen asleep for the next thing she knew, pale light from the horizon was peaking through the curtains of the sky and her eyes fluttered open. She was still lying on the lounge covered with the blanket but to her shock, Blake was sitting on the soft grass next to her, with his back leaned up against her lounge chair. His head was resting to the side almost touching her bare legs. His eyes were closed and Gwen sensed he was fast asleep. In his hand, was a short glass of just a little vodka in it with the bottle by his leg along with an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. She didn't know he smoked.

Blake was still dressed in his shorts and shirt from earlier but now they were rumpled, his shirt halfway unbuttoned.

Gwen leans up and watches him as he sleeps. His curls were sweat slicked but beautiful out of place. The pale sunlight streams through the curtains of clouds and plays on his face. He had faint lines on his forehead and around his eyes but he still looked good for his age. He wasn’t fat, or flabby but instead stocky and cut. Big and tall. She pondered what it would be like to kiss him, even more, have sex with him. She quickly cut off the idea before it could give her blessed, yet cursed images to run wild with.

She hears a small sigh escape his lips. She leans closer. He was indeed a handsome man and looked so peaceful as he slept. His face was completely relaxed. Gwen’s hand reaches out to touch his hair and she yelps.

Blake’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist automatically. She saw his eyes were now open and watching her.

“What are you doing?” His voice was groggy from sleep and too much whiskey.

“Your hair looked soft.” The words sound dumb even to her own ears but Blake apparently doesn't mind because he laughs silently, the action shaking his body.

“It is.” He brushes his lips over her wrist before he releases it. Gwen tries her best not to swoon.

“You smoke?”

Blake grunts and sits up stretching his back. It couldn’t have been comfortable sleeping like that and she wonders how long he had been out here with her. “Adam does,” he corrects. “I had one. Still don't like it.”

He stands up slowly and stares at her for a moment. “Adam took the kids to the party already. If you wanna get dressed, we can make it in time for the dinner.”

“Oh.” Blake nods and holds out his hand to help her stand up. She takes it graciously and leads the way back into the house.

“I'm gonna go take a quick shower. If you finish before me, help yourself to anythin you want.” He says.

Gwen refrains from saying,  _ even you,  _ and makes her way upstairs, noting how Blake remains on the first floor and disappears down a hallway. His bedroom must be down there.

It takes her a total of twenty minutes to get ready. She pulls her golden blonde tresses up into a messy bun and decides on natural makeup. It would be a party with all of Blake’s neighbors. She wanted to look his equal in appearance and manner, not like some outsider who doesn't belong. As she came down the steps wearing a blue halter top that looked more like a bra than anything else and a navy blue, geisha, print skirt she found in the closet, Blake’s lungs stop working. With the black sandals and sunglasses, she looks like a movie star on holiday. Blake smiles to himself and then remembers to smile at her.

It was almost night time now and the weather was perfect, hot but with a hint of a cool breeze every now and then. The air was fresh and clean and it felt wonderful blowing across her skin. Gwen inhales deeply as she takes in her surroundings. The neighborhood was bustling but not like the manic tempo of a big city. She follows Blake as he tells her all about all the people and which houses they belong to. As they walk closely together, Gwen sees families out in their big front yards cooking out themselves, playing football or corn hole, listening to all types of music, dressed in all sorts of ways. The streets were paved with cobblestones lined with boardwalks. One would think it was a rather quaint beach town if it weren’t for the Ferrari's and other sport cars buzzing around. This was a little beach town for the extremely wealthy only.

“If you see any jewelry, or anythin you like really, use this.” Her eyes had popped when he had given her a few thousand in spending cash. He casually put his wallet back into his shorts pocket.

“Blake–”

“Relax, don't worry about it,” he murmurs.

Judging by their financial situation, she knew he had plenty of money but being so completely unbothered by giving it to her, so willingly and happy to spend it all on her, was so nerve wracking.

His hand slipping into hers brought her out of her cogitation. She smiles for him and although he couldn’t see how bright her eyes were behind those sunglasses, she knew her gratitude had been heard loud and clear, it spoke volumes. She realizes she wasn’t just genuinely happy this afternoon but she was happy being here with him. She didn’t want her past to prohibit her from her future, especially if it involved a friend like Blake. His hand was so big compared to hers and she looks down at the joining.

They stroll down the street and Gwen can see where the main part of the party was set up on the beach. It felt like a different world down here compared to the town on the other side of the bay and Gwen can see why Adam preferred it.

Her hand was in his, holding tightly, and she was practically dragging him along. The sand was hot in his sandals and Blake was grateful he opted for light fabric. It was a bit hotter on the beach and could barely feel that breeze through his khaki shorts and camo t shirt. There was live music playing on the boardwalk and Gwen pointed to the belly dancers wearing silk saris and veils.

They found Sage with a couple of her friends playing volleyball and when her uncle asked her where her father was, she pointed to the designated area of sand where the dancing occurred in groups, mainly couples. Adam had his arms wrapped around a beautiful brunette who laughed in his ear.

“That's Arabella. He doesn't think I know he’s seeing someone.”

Gwen looks to Blake and then back to the couple. “He looks happy.”

Blake half-smiles at them. “Bee would want him to be.”

Gwen squeezes his hand. “Where’s Zuma?”

The older man looks around the crowded beach until he lands on the ocean. “There.” He points, where Zuma is playing football with a couple of boys and even girls his age. They’re playing right next to the water, occasionally diving in for a catch or a tackle. “Don't worry. He's in good hands.”

Gwen allows herself to let go a little and when Blake leads her to the appetizer tables set up, she tastes different traditional foods and drinks. She was thrilled with everything around her from that point on. She laughs and smiles and tugs his arm when something else catches her eye. It was as if the horrors of the past few years had never happened to her. However, her heart was heavy knowing this bliss would be short lived. But she’s happy right now.

She was looking at local jewelry an old man and woman were making that had her complete attention. Blake saw there was a particular necklace that caught her eye and fingered it tenderly. The dark blue stone was roughly cut but still brilliant against the silver setting.

“Mr. Shelton. It's been too long since me and Cynthia last saw you.”

“Hey Robbie.” Blake pulls the man in for a hug. “You guys out do yourself every time I come and see the new collection.”

“Yes, but you never buy anything.”

Blake grins and shakes his head, “I have no one to buy for. But my friend here needs somethin to remember her first bay party.”

Gwen flushes as she smiles kindly at the couple. “I like this one.” She says, gesturing to the same necklace Blake’s attention was on just moments before.

“This stone is very special. It is given by a friend or loved one to protect the one they love. You do not buy it for yourself or you render it powerless,” Robbie explains to her.

She lets go of the necklace and instead chooses a bracelet with similar colors and pays with Blake’s money. As she walks towards a woman with a multitude of silk scarves, she glances back at the necklace. Gwen walks a bit further into the tent, determined to let the necklace go. Blake stays behind to catch up with his neighbors she presumes. There were some tents with games for the children but one stood out as out of place. It looked like an old-fashioned gun range one would see in a western movie. It had seven targets and a little toy gun with orange bullets that stick to the rounds when they hit.

“Reminds me of back home. I used to go to the gun range with my dad until he taught me how to shoot deer. I used a bow and arrow and liked it much better, though.”

“I think Zuma would love this. He loves cowboys.”

“Then let's get it.”

“Blake, you already paid too much for this bracelet.”

“Listen, it's only fair that if you get a present, Zuma does too.” He smirks at her knowing his words hold some semblance of accuracy to them. She sighs and allows him to pay for the gift. As they walk around a little bit more, Blake checks his phone. “The place we’re eating at should be serving in a couple of minutes. You wanna get everyone and go eat?”

“Yes please, I'm so hungry.”

They find everyone again and walk in from the boardwalk to the far side facing the shore. There are several stone fire pits with low tables and loads of cushions on the sand.

Blake sees RaeLynn, one of their bay neighbors. She struts over and gives him a full kiss on the cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You didn't tell me you were comin. Josh wants you to help him with the car.”

“I thought you guys were gonna be in Nashville.”

She takes his hand and guides him to where her husband and a few people lounge with drinks.

“We decided against it.” 

“Blake! Adam! We didn't think we’d see you guys here,” Josh grins as he lifts his drink to his lips.

“How long has it been? I was beginning to think you didn’t like us anymore,” Kelly pipes up.

“We can't all afford to live here and work from home,” Adam smiles and pulls out his cigarette case.

“Who are these new friends,” Carrie drawls looking right at Zuma and Gwen.

Blake places a firm but gently hand on Zuma’s shoulder. “This is Zuma and his mother, Gwen.”

“It's nice to meet you guys.” Gwen greets.

“And since we have a guest younger than sixteen, keep the cussin and the drinkin to a minimum.” Blake says, bringing Zuma and Gwen to sit down next to him.

“What do you guys want to drink?” Brandon asks as he signals the waiter.

“Surprise us,” Adam smirks.

“Uh, no surprises for me. Two Sangria’s and two freckled lemonades.” He leans down to Zuma, “Sage loves the lemonade here, I think you will too.”

Zuma nods and shifts closer to Blake. He looks tired from playing earlier and Blake runs a soothing hand down the boy’s white-blonde hair, instinctively.

The food was brought out and set upon the large table for everyone to taste. The alcohol flowed and the music hummed. Blake relaxes back into the cushions and Zuma slightly curls into his side. It was an exquisite evening with just enough of a cool breeze from the sea to break the humidity. Blake notes how bright the moon and stars are here in comparison to just about everywhere else.

Sage reluctantly asks for permission to go down to the docks with her friends, and when granted, she sprints off. Josh and Brandon go for a swim in the clear, yet darkened by the moonlight, water. Zuma joins them after much coaxing. He really was tired.

“Gwen are you sleeping with Blake?” RaeLynn, asks drunkenly. Kelly and Carrie both giggle and Blake shrugs at Adam’s raised eyebrows.

“We’re just friends,” she smiles and Blake can’t help but laugh, he blames the alcohol.

“If Blake keeps wooing her like he is they won't be for long.” Adam pipes up, which only furthers the ladies’ laughter.

“You have no room to talk. Fuck any Bella's lately? I know you went to see her when you disappeared out of thin air earlier.” Blake responds, not unkindly.

The color drains from Adam’s face but he smiles nonetheless. “You’re a dick.”

“Yes, I am.”

Adam finishes off his glass and stands up unsteady.

“Where are you going?” Blake asks.

“To disappear out of thin air,  _ again _ .” Came the sarcastic reply.

Blake feels Gwen’s hand search for his when he realizes he’s about to get up and follow the younger man. “Give him some space. Maybe he's not ready to share her.”

Not knowing if it's from contempt or something else, Blake huffs. He appreciates the grounding gesture and brings his knees up to pull Gwen between his legs shielding her from Adam’s pissy mood and Kelly and Carrie’s curiosity.

“Miranda called last week, asking about you.” Kelly voices after several minutes of silence. “She wants to sit down with you over lunch.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“Who’s Miranda?” Gwen asks, innocently.

“No one important.” Blake takes a sip of his drink and stands up, as well. “Dance with me?” Blake moves in front of Gwen holding out his hand.

He pulls her up and guides her to the sand dance floor under the lanterns. He expected to keep a safe but comfortable distance between them and was genuinely surprised when Gwen turned around in his arms, draping an arm behind his head to rest on his shoulders. Blake takes her hips to move in time with his, heart skipping when she leans back into him. The music was pulsing and he feels her hand pull his across her stomach as Blake nuzzles into her soft hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. She feels her smile pressed into the side of his scruffed jaw and can't help but press one into her’s. He was done with denying how much he really wanted her and turns Gwen around to face him. Blake holds her to him and dances in rhythm for the first time in his life. God, how much he wanted to dance with her forever. Her eyes lit up every time he pulled her closer and she laughed and smiled. He wraps her arm around his neck again and moves her in time with him. He can feel her every soft curve molded into his body. 

The humidity changed and Blake’s clothes stuck to his body. He could see a few clouds and wondered briefly if the weather was going to turn. His attention returned to where his hands held her. The material of her skirt was plastered to her thighs as his fingers trail along the outside and trace her backside. He barely hears the soft sigh she gives him. He pulls back just enough to look at her face. He could drown in those brown eyes and be perfectly happy. Her lips were parted and lightly stained with red wine. They begged to be kissed and when he saw her gaze at his lips, he could no longer resist and leaned in, only to be stopped with a warm finger against his mouth.

“Zuma.” Gwen utters the name so softly and Blake immediately understands. Blake pulls back entirely and digs in his pocket, pulling out the necklace she wanted so desperately earlier. Without a word, he brings the silver around her neck and fastens the small clasp. For the longest time he gazes at her entranced form. Her eyes were full of confused emotions as she returns his gaze.

“Blake…” She breathes out.

“Later.” He leans down and kisses her cheek soundly. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

It was late, too late, by the time Gwen got up the nerve to leave the comfortable confines of her bed and make her way downstairs quietly. She left part of her former self, the part that was too scared to let herself be loved and be happy, upstairs as she enters the sitting room. Not even knowing where his bedroom was, which hallway to turn down, Gwen kept her cool as she made her way to the back of the house. When she came to a fork in the pathway, the only clue to lead her to Blake was to the left, where a stream of dim light spilled out into the hall from an adjacent bedroom door. He was up.

Her feet feel incredibly light as they carry her across the warm floor. She pushes the door slightly and is met with a large bedroom, much bigger than the one she picked out. Gwen closes the door and that familiar voice chuckles in front of her. She looks up to find Blake toweling his soaked hair and judging by the semi-dry state of his clothes still on from earlier, she guesses it's sweat instead of water. The house lights right outside his bedroom window illuminated his shadow from the open balcony.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to get here,” the man laughs and sets down his towel.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” she responds.

“I went out to garden. I actually planted some sunflowers just by the side of the house, here.”

“Sunflowers are my favorite.”

“Weird,” he grins.

She smiles, even allows a small laugh to escape her throat as she walks toward him. His smirk widens and she drapes her arms around his neck. Blake bends his head down until his lips ghost along her jaw, until they’re only centimeters from her mouth. “Gwen,” Blake breathes, soft and almost lilting in that odd accent of his. He says her name so carefully. Like he’s got a mouth full of blood. Gwen knows what that feels like, what that tastes like.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently.

“I'm okay.”

It must not sound convincing because Blake pulls away. “What's wrong?”

It's only fitting that she should leave his arms just the way he left hers, and travels to the bed to sit.

“Gwen–”

“My ex husband rapes me,” Gwen says aloud, and it surprises even her. It doesn’t sound remotely like Gwen Stefani, mom and daughter, with her careful pronunciation because Gwen Stefani, mom and daughter, knows what it’s like to be someone’s weak wife, but the experience is only noble if she carries none of it with her once her divorce had civilized her. This is Gwen, little Gwen, with the sleepy face and the skinny wrists and honey-warm eyes, bruised like bites taken from a peach all down her thighs. Gwen, who knows what shade of Mama’s foundation makes her co-workers stop asking questions, and has a dozen excuses on hand for the scuffed skin of her knees. Her voice doesn’t waver.

Blake merely watches her. Doesn’t say a word.

He drops to  _ his  _ knees however, and leans forward, pushes past the invisible line Gwen had stamped into the space she occupies for everyone since Gavin. 

Blake leans in, and suddenly he’s on his knees in front of Gwen’s legs, and he’s—he’s looking up at her like she–she doesn't know. There's no look of disgust, no look of pity, nothing. He’s blank. Except for the disarming heat in those eyes of his, and Gwen doesn’t think she’s ever noticed the color before—blue, so deep as to be nearly black. An indecipherable color, like a pool of water, the ocean, perhaps the sky.

“Tell me,” Blake whispers.

Gwen’s skin crawls. “I always say no,” Gwen starts. “I  _ always  _ say no,” she repeats, and doesn’t know where to go from there.

She closes her eyes tightly and wishes she didn't have to tell him any of this. “He doesn't listen. I try to leave him and he finds us and I–I’m on my knees but I'm not praying...I always say no,” she says, and doesn’t know how to continue past that, because no one has ever asked before.

She’s never told this story, not even to herself. “I don't want it.”

She hears the silk rip and felt the cool air hit her hips before the words were even out. She looks up in surprise and sees anger, maybe even hatred in Blake’s eyes. It's a moment before he remembers himself and pulls away entirely as if he'd been burned.

“I'm sorry,” his voice sounds wrecked, brazen. He stands up and Gwen follows immediately. “Earlier…”

Gwen nods. “I'm not used to–you pulled away when I asked.”

Blake whirls around so fast it almost unbalances her. “I am not him. I will never force you to do anythin you don’t want to do, Gwen.” Blake voices, and his hand slides around to cradle the angle of her jaw. “We don't have to do anythin.”

It’s not fair for Blake to sound so steady while Gwen’s choking on buried emotions but the tone is gentle and that’s—that’s how she knows, anyways, that it isn’t Gavin,  _ he  _ isn’t Gavin because Gavin sounds like ten years of cigarettes and bourbon dragged over gravel.

“I want you.” Gwen murmurs, and brushes a kiss along the dimple of Blake’s cheek. “I want it to feel different with you.”

Gwen would never have thought to use the word delicate to describe Blake but he was. A delicate thing, contented, breath hot in the small space of her neck. Too sweet, too soft for the animal way his body crowds into her’s, the way he tenses and flexes and shivers around her.

The slit of the skirt had torn all the way to her ribcage and her underwear was tugged down her long legs. Blake didn’t unbuckle his shorts but knelt down and hooked her leg over his shoulder. He devours her like a starved man. His tongue works her hard and Gwen’s eyes practically roll into the back of her head. She had nothing to hold on to but his shoulders and the back of his curls. Her standing leg was shaking as she unconsciously bucked against his mouth. His hands held her up as his mouth gave her pleasure. Dear God, he was good and she was so close when he abruptly stopped and stood up, holding her waist tightly.

“Are you sure,” he whispers against her lips.

She mentally berates herself for being so weak, but she was aching so bad it didn’t matter. Rational thought was telling her that if Blake was going to hurt her, nothing he could do would be as bad as what Gavin had already done.

Blake lifts her up with ease against him and encourages her to wrap her legs around his waist. “Are you sure?” He asks again.

“I'm sure. I'm sure, Blake.”

He rocks into her. The soft fabric of his shorts rubs against her bare skin. She could feel his hardness press up into her and soon enough she was on fire again.

He carries her the short distance to the bed and sets her down. There wasn’t much left to the skirt as he ripped it away leaving her in just her blue top. His eyes rake her body and Blake begins to unbutton his shirt. A minute later his shorts follow and his hard cock strains against his briefs.

Blake pulls her hips to the edge of the bed. Gwen watches as he removes the last of his clothing and bends over her pushing her to lay back. Blake pulls her hips up and opens her thighs to him.

Her nerves paralyze her, “Blake–”

He bends over once again and kisses her softly as his hips rock against hers. He never entered her, just teased and teased as he kissed her softly.

“Relax. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“I don't–”

Blake pulls back and flips her over onto her stomach. Gwen doesn't want to think about how he knew to do that, how much the closeness was getting to her. Here, like this, she could breathe. He lifts her hips and pushes her further up the mattress until he’s directly behind her on his knees. Her head and chest rests on the soft, cool sheets and Gwen feels his hands raise her hips up.

He caresses her spine and unlaces the bra and shirt in one go, letting them both fall down and away. Blake runs his hand down until they reach her tailbone. Those same digits dip down and inside her slowly pumping. Gwen moans softly, can feel his hard cock resting above her ass as he fingers her slowly and brings his other hand around to play with her nub. Before long Gwen was bucking against him, her body begging for more and for him and she hasn't done this in so long. She hasn't had good–consensual–sex in so long that she forgot how much her body can actually enjoy it.

Blake stops all together making her whimper in agony. Dear God, she needed it and needed it badly. Gwen wanted him inside her and finally her voice sounded the plea her body was dying for.

“Please,” she whispers.

Gwen can feel him rubbing his cock along her slit, wetting him and Gwen was rigid with anticipation. His hands return to her hips as he pushes inside slowly with a deep groan. He was thick and heavy as he stretched her until she felt her backside press firmly against his hips. He was slow and controlled, buried deep inside her. Gwen feels her insides light on fire, feels every nerve in her body responding to his. Blake takes his time guiding her hips to meet his, and Gwen relishes every sensation. She can feel her walls clenching him as he keeps the pace slow, too slow. Nothing like Gavin. She thrusts back against him hard telling him what she wants, she wants more, wants to feel him because he feels good to her, but he ignores her heady demands. She feels his hands grab her waist as he starts to move deeper. Her fingers graze his as her hands move behind herself and arch back to touch him. Their hands entwine as Blake thrusts become even deeper and God, she can feel every inch of him. One hand leaves hers to tangle in her hair and he pulls just a touch to roughly.

Without a word, she pulls away, feels him slip out of her. Gwen turns around to face him. His eyes were glazed a bit in confusion and lust as he watches her. Suddenly she slapped him hard across the cheek. His face paused in that position, turned and all at once her rage, and her pain from many years of sexual abuse came rushing forward as she tries to hit him again and again. He grabs her wrists and holds tightly bringing her body flush against him.

“Gwen, stop. Stop, it's me,” Blake presses the words into her hair as he brings them both back down to the mattress. “I’m not him, look at me.”

His voice was soft but strong. His hands came up to bracket her face and she knew she was whimpering, crying, but he didn't try to shush her, just held her close and repeated sweet nothings in her skin. The head of his cock was so close to her entrance that only a slight movement and he would be back inside her again. Gwen was fueled with so much hate, hate for Gavin because Blake was being gentle, he was being kind and all she can think about is every time he ever took this from her.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Gwen looks up and wishes she didn't. Seeing him above her with such softness in his eyes was too much. It wasn’t just that she needed this, she wanted it desperately.

Gwen arches her pelvis up grazing him as her eyes never left his. “Please, don't ever.”

Don't ever stop being you, don't ever stop making me feel all of this, she wants to say. He immediately lets go of her face with one hand and grabs her hips up as he plunges into her again. And as his thrusts spark something hot and wild in her, she realizes for the first time what a generous lover felt like, for he didn’t just take his pleasure from her. He gave. Seeing the pleasure he offers to her only seemed to heighten his own.

She was moaning deeply now and started bucking against him trying to get more friction. She wants him to let go and know that she won’t punish him for it, won't mistake him for Gavin again.

“I’m sorry. I need you. Let go,” she whispers.

“Gwen.”

“You’re not him. Fuck me harder.”

He lowers himself with a groan and ravages her mouth while his hips don’t miss a beat. His hand tilts her hips pulling them up roughly as his mouth swallows her moans. The light hair on his stomach and chest tickles slightly as his body presses hers down. Gwen wraps her legs around him and digs her heels into the backs of his thighs.

“He’s never touching you again,” he groans harshly in between thrusts.

Gwen was so lost in sensation she almost didn’t hear him. She was so fucking close and afraid he would stop like Gavin always did, thinking it was a game. That she was a joke. He made her beg for her release. Made her tell him she belonged to him. But she never could say it, and if she did she never meant it. She didn’t belong to anyone and especially not any man.

Blake slips his arm under her leg hiking it up. He grounds in deep and she cries out in pleasure.

Fuck, he was a good lover. A good cook, a good gardener, very good at being rich. And from what she’s seen so far, he was a good father as well. This man was all of these things and this man fucked her rougher with every second. Every one of her nerve endings were on fire. She was completely debauched and didn’t care. She kisses him hard and her breath became lost with his.

She thrusts against him and each time their pelvic bones hit, it struck that bundle of nerves and she felt her body convulse. “Oh my god,” she breathes. She could feel her toes curl as he slammed into her.

“Don’t stop, I’m so close. Please,” she pleads.

Gwen had felt more alive in these past few days with him than in her whole life. It was everything and nothing in particular. There was a fire inside her when she was with Blake. Something that told her she could be in control here, she could lead the way for once and Blake would happily follow behind her.

Gwen uses all her strength and flips them over until she’s straddling him. Gwen smiles and reaches behind her lightly stroking him, relishing in the soft groan it elicits from the man underneath her.

A feeling of boldness comes over her. Gwen grasps him firmly making him hiss. His hands clench her thighs and she was beginning to like having this power over someone. And Blake must have liked it as well, because he was here after all, still here, looking up at her like she was some kind of masterpiece. He wants her and the thought of him wanting her, like this, strong and not weak, fearless and not pliant, set her on fire.

“You look good like this,” she murmurs.

“Underneath you?” Blake chuckles deeply when she doesn't warrant that with a response. Gwen leans over him until her mouth is so close to his and waits patiently. His hands massage her thighs as their breaths mingle. Finally, Blake raises his head up searching for her mouth but Gwen pulls back a few inches.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” That seductive mouth of his smiles but doesn’t utter a word.

Hands drift up her thighs to her backside and Gwen swats them away. Blake smirks.

She reaches to her apex and coats her fingers. Her finger traces his bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” she breathes.

Blake’s tongue swirls and suckles her index finger as soft lips close around it. Her middle finger joins in as she slowly pumps the digits in his mouth. She feels his hips mirror the movement. She kisses along his jaw and finds a pulse point under his ear. His hands return and she swats them away a second time. She grabs his wrists and pins them to the mattress.  

Gwen attacks his neck with vigor before returning to his mouth and kissing him roughly. She rocks her body hard against his that earns a harsh groan from him. Her lips move down his chest allowing her apex to rub him. He was trying desperately to gain some friction but she denied him hearing him curse under his breath.

“Gwen, please…”

She rises back to sitting on his abdomen and reaches behind her once again to stroke him tightly. She raises her hips to let the tip of him just barely touch her entrance. His hips tilt up and Gwen lets just the crown sink in. Blake’s head falls back and he curses again in frustration. She places her hands on his chest and lowers herself down little by little. “You want me that much?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman...yes. You’re killing me,” his voice strangles out as his hands try to force her hips down unsuccessfully. She wasn’t going to give up this newfound power so easily.

“Am I really what you want?” And no sooner had the words left her mouth she slammed down hard on him making him cry out in ecstasy.

“Fuck yes...” He growls as he’s buried to the hilt inside her. She fucks him hard and fast after that and listens in a trance as he calls out to her. His hand returns to where they are joined as the other comes to run through her sweaty strands. And this time, when he did pull, she didn't cower away.

Gwen loves watching the way his face changes from fascination, to arousal and then wild lust. His eyes were black and filled with concentration watching her above him. His hips were thrusting up harder and faster as that wonderful pressure came barreling forward and there was no controlling it. The first wave hits hard and she falls onto him searching for anything to hold. She doesn’t even have time to scream for he wasn’t stopping and his hands grab her backside forcing their rough joining even more. He flips her over and hooks her knees over his forearms giving him complete control.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants. Gwen leans up to kiss him hard. “I’m gonna make you come again.” He grunts in effort as he fucks her.

She cries out as another wave crashes into her and yet he still pushes on as her nails claw his back. She couldn’t take anymore as her body shook in over stimulation. He kisses her roughly as he quickens to a frantic pace that tells her he’s close. “Again...come for me again.”

Was he crazy? Their bodies were slick with sweat and she couldn’t believe he was still going. “I can’t...” She whimpers in truth.

“You can. Look at me.”

Gwen couldn’t have looked away if she tried.

Looking into his dark eyes is so intense as he makes her body quake and she feels him follow her. His face contorted as he cried out her name and spent himself inside her.

His warm body drapes over hers while they frantically try to catch their breaths. Gwen thought she could die right now. Nothing had ever felt so goddamned good in her life. His hair was damp as she ran her fingers through it feeling his harsh breathing against her neck. Gwen felt her heart begin to settle when he raised himself up on one elbow and gazed at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

Fingers gently move the damp strands of hair away. There’s a mixture of adoration, confusion and something else behind his eyes. Blake sighs deeply and dips his head into the curve of her neck.

“I can't...I don’t want anybody else when we go back home.”

It was a loaded statement that she didn’t seem to have a good enough reply to. “We’ve known each other for two weeks,” she whispers.

He’s vulnerable right now, she can tell. The truth of it though, was that she didn’t want to be alone either and she wanted to stay with him. Wanted to be with him when they left this little safe haven of theirs, but was that really realistic?

“And I want two more,” he says, the words muffled by her neck. “And two more and two more–”

“Blake.”  

He lifts his head and tired eyes study her for a long time. She could see his mind working and all she could do was wait. There was something in the way he looked at her that she couldn’t quite place but when he sighed, she held her breath.

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it when we get back.”

Gwen leans up and kisses him tenderly. She finds the sheet and pulls it up to cover them as Blake closes the distance and spoons her against him. He drapes his arm around her waist and holds her close. 

Blake’s breathing eventually slowed in rhythm and Gwen knew he was asleep. That soreness was between her legs but this time it was welcomed. The room smelt of sex and the feel of his arm around her was a beautiful comfort.

Gwen begins to drift off with the feeling that her confidence and her laughter and her freedom, all of which he had taken earlier, would be restored to her in the morning.


	6. Now my body and mind are so distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from a beautiful song by Bea Miller, called I can't breathe. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far. <3

Gwen comes slowly back to consciousness, tangled in tightly wound sheets with the hot press of Blake’s body behind her. She’s overheated and disoriented, and incredibly aroused. She understands why when she feels Blake’s hips rock against her, driving his cock between her thighs. His breath comes in hot puffs, stirring Gwen’s hair, tickling behind her ear.

Each thrust rubs along the sensitive stretch of skin from her aching folds to her nub. She’s still half asleep but desperate nonetheless. This is how it's supposed to be, she thinks. Gwen reaches down to touch herself, but Blake catches her hand and rolls her flat on the bed, pinning her hands at her side with a grunt.

Gwen shudders, tries to arch her spine or grind against the bed, but the weight and force of his thrusts effectively keeps her held down. She might come anyway, just like this, which is unbelievable and also incredibly arousing. Blake has a way of making her body do things she never imagined possible.

She bites down on the sheet and whines when his dick rubs past her opening. She has to take a centering breath and lifts her head. There’s a lingering soreness, but no worse than that initial stretch. But Blake doesn’t push inside. Gwen whimpers in frustration. “Blake, please.”

She doesn't know if it's to spite her or what, but Blake comes with a low, almost inhuman groan. Gwen twists her wrists and bucks upward, but Blake just collapses on top of her, holding her down. He bites the nape of her neck and scrapes down her spine, still working his hips at the last few spasms of his cock.

“You’re the worst,” Gwen moans, irritated and incapable of coming up with any other coherent thing to say. She’s still dazed from waking the way she did.

Blake hums in amusement. 

“What time is it?” Gwen mumbles.

He rises up on his knees and shoves Gwen’s legs apart. Before Gwen can get a response, Blake goes down between her thighs. He licks up his own release, and this time he doesn’t tease, just pushes his come inside with his tongue.

It shocks the breath of out her and she flails out, fist punching the mattress, feet tangling in the sheets. She's vaguely aware of the unprotected sex they had last night and the unprotected sex they’re about to have right now, but Gwen can’t think about the repercussions in the moment. It's the first time in  _ years  _ that she's felt her body this invigorated, this desperate for another man’s touch. She can handle the semantics later, she will, probably when she's faced with her only son.

Gwen rocks her hips back and Blake moans against her, thrusts his tongue in deeper and sucks at her lips. Gwen can’t stop a whimper; her thighs are quivering, muscles spasming from how tense she’s holding them. She buries her face in the sheets, panting and rocking back on Blake’s face.

He pulls away abruptly and she makes a bereft sound, lifting her head to stare over her shoulder. She watches as Blake leans over her, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “It's 5:47.” He whispers in her ear.

Blake then tosses the device aside and sits back on his heels, smacking Gwen across the ass as he does. It’s hard enough to sting, skin heating under his palm. “Knees,” he says.

Gwen, though incredulous, finds herself obeying, up on all fours. “What–”

Blake shoves two slick fingers in her, and that shuts her up. Her hands slip on the sheets from the force of it, mouth agape in surprise and the sudden rush of hot pleasure. Blake spreads his fingers apart, stretching Gwen open, and thrusts his tongue between them.

The touch is unlike the shallow penetration of his tongue before, or the feel of his fingers or his cock. It’s so light, almost too light, sending tiny jolts of sensation. No matter how Gwen pleads, Blake won’t give her anything more substantial. Though it’s maddening, she can feel the tendrils of pleasure slowly tickling up the backs of her legs and the small of her back.

And then, before long, she’s rocking back against Blake’s face, soft  _ uhns _ falling from her mouth with every breath. She’s so close. All she needs is to prop herself on one hand and reach down–

Before her fingers can even brush the sensitive flesh, Blake is moving, lightning fast. He grabs her fingers, not so much as crushing them in his grip but definitely squeezing and with a hand between her shoulder blades, he shoves her down. Gwen’s other arm gives and she falls, cheek pressed into the mattress.

“Not yet,” Blake whispers, breath stirring Gwen’s hair. He jerks Gwen’s hands behind her back and pins them there with one wrist. Her neck is at a weird angle, her back curved in a tight line with her ass high in the air and shoulders to the bed, and she has no leverage to lift herself.

Instinct tells Gwen to fight back, just like she does with Gavin, even if she can’t win. Giving in without a struggle goes against who she is at the very core. In her head she can see the way she looks, on display for Blake, willing and submissive, like some kind of thing to be had. She's afraid all men are like Gavin, that Blake was only putting on a front last night and this is who he really is, what he really wants to do to her. Just like Gavin, he wants to reduce her to nothing, something below him entirely.

“Will you stay?” Blake asks her.

The question knocks the breath out of her and she instantly knows what Blake is showing her.  _ Will you stay?  _ Will you let him hold you down like this with the knowledge, the confidence that he will only bring you pleasure, never pain. Will you let him be rough knowing that he’ll never be cruel. Will you let him show you how your body can break at the hands of someone without destroying every piece in the process.

These aren't questions; they’re facts.

Gwen takes a deep breath and nods her head.

Blake releases her and Gwen laces her fingers together, holding them in place behind her back.

Blake strokes her in approval, down her back, around her hip, and over the curve of her ass. He’s tender, fingertips tracing the lines of her body. The touches are pleasurable but calming rather than stimulating. Gwen feels her muscles loosening as she settles into this position, and she’s no longer teetering on the edge of flight or fight.

He brushes aside Gwen’s hair to kiss her neck. Gentle, sucking kisses that steal her breath, make her light-headed. As he brings a bruise to surface, he probes between Gwen’s legs, pushes inside with two fingers but only for a few brief strokes before pulling out, cupping her in his hand.

Gwen turns her head to the side, cheeks hot against the cool sheets, breath coming fast again, already, just from this. She considers asking for more, but Blake isn’t going to give it to her unless he wants to, no matter what she says, or how prettily she begs. Which she doesn't want to, not with him, not like this. She weighs in her head the embarrassment it would cost her to plead against the pleasure it will undoubtedly bring Blake, and that is enough to unlock her tongue. She exhales Blake’s name, more, please.

Blake licks his way down her spine, biting down hard between the T3 and 4, where she holds most of her tension, before continuing down. Those two fingers drag back over her opening and thrust back in again, and the slow, torturous process begins all over. A few fleeting strokes, pulling out, rubbing the sensitive stretch of skin between, and in again.

Gwen makes a strangled sound. It’s a struggle to keep still when all she wants to do is break free, pin Blake to the bed and climb on him. Or maybe hold him down and fuck him like this, make Blake lose his mind with need.

Like he’s reading her thoughts, Blake kisses the inside of each of her wrists where they’re stretched across her back. “I can hear you thinkin,” he says. His teeth drag over thin skin. “Why he would want to hurt you…” 

Gwen looks over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip. Blake’s nails scrape down her ass cheeks, first just the barest whisper of a touch, then again harder, and harder, until Gwen knows there will be angry streaks on her skin for days and she knows she’s leaking, the small of her back aching from the tight line of her spine. And  _ fuck.  _ Each time his fingers sink deep into her, she feels it building higher, her emotions, her release, her  _ freedom _ .

Gwen rounds her back, draws in her abs, rocks down and back, making her wetness rub between her thighs and pelvis. It’s hardly anything, but it’s enough to get her off. She grinds down, muscles drawing in and gasps out, “Oh, I–”

“Don’t,” Blake growls, the tone making the hair on Gwen’s arm stand on end. He wraps an arm around her waist and cups her in his hand punishingly tight. Her hips jerk, like she’s coming, but there is no relief, no hot liquid running.

“Blake, come on,” she snaps. Her body is dripping with sweat, sore and stiff in this position.

Blake rubs his other hand over Gwen’s hip, grabs a handful of ass cheek and squeezes, and Gwen reflexively pushes back. She’s empty, aching for Blake to fill her up and when she finally feels the blunt press of Blake’s cock pushing against her opening, she almost cries in relief.

In a single flex of his hips, Blake buries himself in her body and then starts fucking her. He draws back slowly each time, then thrusts in hard and fast. Gwen is shoved up the bed and finally lets go of her own hands, bracing them against the headboard. Blake covers her chest to back, arm like a vise around her hips, hauling her body back on his cock. The force is jarring; Gwen can feel it in her teeth.

This is closer to what she’s wanted, not the obscenity of being held down, split open, and used. She wants  _ this _ , the ecstasy of being taken out of her own mind, of Blake giving her pleasure until it becomes too much. It has her panting like some sort of wild creature, each breath ending in a weak, high-pitched whine. She is mindless with lust and she’s not sure if she likes the way it feels, like her  _ chest  _ instead of her  _ thighs _ , has been split open and Blake can see everything inside, some last part of herself that no one has yet to touch. It's not the dangerous, needy hunger that goes beyond the codependency Gavin has fostered in her. It's something visceral, unthinking, and instinctive.

Blake grabs her by the hair and encourages her back up on all fours, and Gwen finally has the leverage to really meet him thrust for thrust, bearing down and rocking back hard and fast with no sense of rhythm or finesse.

Her breathing is so shallow she might actually pass out before she comes. She thinks she might be crying, but it’s hard to say, when the only things she can really focus on is the feel of Blake moving inside her.

“Please, Blake,” she whines, she  _ begs  _ and fuck how is that  _ her  _ voice? Like she might die if she doesn’t get what she needs.

“Don’t beg me,” Blake says. “I ain't him. Ask me. Anythin you want, I’ll give it to you.” The words feel like an actual physical caress.

“What do you want, Gwen?  _ Tell  _ me.”

“I want you,” she chokes off. “I just want you.”

Blake sits up suddenly, holding Gwen fast to his chest. “Oh,” Gwen moans. “Oh f–, you’re so deep.” She widens her legs and swivels her hips, grinding herself down on Blake’s lap. Her hands flail out at her side, unsure what to do with them. Blake has a tight grip on her still and every part of her body is over-sensitized. She settles for reaching behind herself, twining her hands in Blake’s hair.

He noses up the side of her neck and Gwen can feel that broad smile pressed against her skin. He bites her ear and tugs. The hand on her apex moves away and a single finger draws up her slit.

“Blake,” Gwen protests weakly, but he ignores it, circling the swollen skin of her nub with his thumb, smearing the wetness already gathered between her thighs, then stroking back down with the same light touch.

“I’m gonna fuck you for hours, one day,” and if hearing Blake talk like that, the words rolling off his tongue like they belongs there, doesn’t push her that much closer to the edge. “And you won’t have to worry about anythin anymore. Cause I’ll take care of you both.”

Gwen cries weakly, “Please, Blake.”

“Make me come,” Blake says. “Make me come, Gwen. Take control, I’m yours. Come on.”

At his words, Gwen leans forward, braces her hands on Blake’s knees and gives up any sense of shame. This is what Blake wants, this is what turns him on, her being  _ strong,  _ her taking what  _ she  _ wants. This is what makes him say these things that are so ridiculously hot that Gwen almost wishes she weren’t about to come so they could keep doing this for hours. 

Her legs are quivering from the strain of overextended pleasure, burning when she rises up on her knees and works herself back down on his cock. Each time she seats herself, she draws her muscles in tight, enjoying the grunts it earns her from Blake.

Gwen can read the signs that he’s close–the way his thighs tense, his nails biting into skin, the harsh breaths through his nose picking up speed. She squeezes around Blake’s cock and draws her hips in tight circles, relentless, and lets out a little sigh of delight when his hips thrust up again, involuntarily. The sound he makes is just utterly filthy, a gluttonous, satisfied groan breathed in Gwen’s ear, drawn out with each pulse of his cock.

Before he’s even finished, Blake draws a hand down, and it only takes his hand stroking in smooth circles over her nub, before she’s coming, too. Blake’s hand is hot and slick, rubbing her through each spasm. This is not the white noise, heavy-limbed relief of an orgasm. This is like a fucking storm laying ruin to her body, leaving her battered and bruised and lucky to be alive. She’s never come so long in her life–her release all over the bed and the both of them.

At some point, she must actually black out, because the next thing she knows she’s lying on her stomach, Blake sitting beside her on the edge of the bed with a glass of water and a smug expression. Gwen rolls onto her side, head flopped back, and lets out a trembling moan. Blake lays a hand on her forehead, palm cool from the sink, and pushes back her sweat-soaked hair.

“Oh my God,” Gwen says, succinctly. She can still feel the ghost sensation of Blake inside her and shifts her hips chasing it. She glances down at Blake’s lap, his flaccid cock, then back at his face. “How long before we can do that again?”

He gives her an indulgent chuckle. “While I love and appreciate the enthusiasm,” he drawls, “I just came twice in the last hour and I’m not particularly young or in my sexual prime like Adam puts it.”

She arches a brow, but she’s too pleasantly spent to muster any real cheek. “If this is you past your sexual prime, I’m not sure if I should be sad that I missed it or jealous of the women who didn't.” 

That provokes an unexpected, open smile, the kind that softens Blake’s whole face, warms the color of his eyes. “You’re the first woman I slept with, without a condom. You have nothin’ to be jealous of. And what I did with them is not what I just shared with you.”

“It’s not?” Gwen asks cautiously, uncertain she wants to hear any more. The post-coital haze is quickly being eaten away by the rising swell of prickling heat in her chest.

Blake puts the water glass on the nightstand and pulls Gwen closer, Blake’s hand teasing gently through the tangles in her hair.

“People have sex to be less alone, to have someone to hold other than themselves at night. It's hard not to get attached to someone when you’re usin’ them like that.”

It is an unfortunate truth, Gwen acknowledges, and the reason that the number of people she’s slept with barely exceeds the number of fingers on one hand, but none of that makes her feel any better about it. No matter how often she marvels at this newfound jealousy over her lover’s exes, it never goes away.

Blake sighs, that long exhale that Gavin used to give her that says Gwen is testing his patience with her attitude. “What I'm sayin is that I have sex, not because I need someone to hold or because I need to feel less alone, but because I need to feel more like everybody else. I don't have any kids, I don't have a wife. I live alone with my dog and the closest I've ever been at being normal is when I was helpin’ Adam take care of two little girls...With sex, lives are made, and with death, those lives end. There’ve been billions of human lives that’ve come and gone on this planet, and the fact that each one begins and ends with the same physical processes is really the only similarity we all share. With those women I'm just fittin’ in. But with you, Gwen...I’m not livin’ like everybody else when I'm with you. I'm not makin love like everybody else when I'm inside you and I sure as hell don't breathe like everybody else when I look at you. It’s not only desire I feel for you, but this impulse to have you, again and again, in whatever way you’ll let me...” His fingers draw enticingly along the back of her neck.

“If anythin, I’m the one who should be jealous,” Blake says, “I don't think you’ve ever had sex with someone without sharing yourself completely. Even with...with him.”

Gwen sits up, looks Blake in the eye. “Don’t mistake my body’s betrayal for intimacy, Blake.”

“It’s hard not to. You said rapes, Gwen. As in...he hasn't stopped forcing himself on you. You haven't stopped him...” He sighs, “I just don't want to fight for you if you’re gonna be one of those women who don't fight for me...or yourself, for that matter. I just...knowing you now, what you’ve been through, what you’re capable of, I just wanna take care of you. I  _ can  _ take care of you...you and Zuma.”

Gwen stares at him for several moments before working up the courage to speak. “Sometimes at night love comes up so quickly and so high, but by morning I’m afraid that in the light it will all just be somebody’s heart talking in the dark...I can't trust in a word you say right now.” Gwen tucks back Blake’s curls behind his ear; a comforting gesture that counters the pointed sting of the words. “Gavin always whispered promises to me when the sun was down. You feel like sunshine and I need you to be different.”

He shakes his head. “I am different,” Blake mutters.

Gwen gives him a placid, beatific expression. “You just said we’re all the same until someone comes along and makes you stand out. How do you know exactly that I'm the one to do that,” she counters.

“Because before you I looked at love like it was a weapon. Now I'm startin’ to see that it's not somethin’ to be used but somethin’ to be felt. Don't you wanna feel this...with me?” 

Gwen wonders, wildly, how long she's been falling in love and if it's too late to stop.

“What time is it?” Gwen avoids his question. “I don't want Zuma to find me–”

“I ran a bath for you. The house isn't gonna wake up for a little while.”

“Blake.”

“Gwen...Come on. I put Epsom salt and some fruity oils that have flowers in them.”

“Why do you have that stuff?”

He shrugs, “This used to be Adam and Behati’s room.”

Gwen shakes her head and gets out of bed. “Will you ever tell me how she died?”

She walks to the bathroom naked and is very aware of the eyes that follow her there.

Gwen sinks in the steaming water, hissing at the sting of every exposed bruise and scratch. After adjusting to the heat, she relaxes back against the rim of the tub with a deep sigh.

“She had a tumor.”

Gwen opens her eyes to see Blake sitting on the toilet lid, hands clasped on his lap, now covered in briefs.

“By the time they found it, she only had a couple of months left to live.”

“Those girls must’ve been devastated.”

“I think everyone was. She was an amazing woman. You and her would’ve been great friends.”

Blake stands up and retrieves a cloth and towel. He comes back to sit on the tub’s edge, staring down at her softly. Blake likes to wash her, and Gwen likes to indulge him.

“Why did you and your ex husband get a divorce?” Blake asks after several moments of washing and rinsing as his hands travel down her body.

“...We had a son. Before Zuma.”

“Had.”

She nods, swallows past that child shape lump in her throat. “Had. He was four and Zuma was one.” Gwen pauses, lost in the methodical, almost ritualistic way Blake massages the shampoo into her hair, the gentle tug of his fingers combing through blonde strands as he rinses it clean.

“I went to have lunch with my brother and sister-in-law. I was only gone maybe two hours. Two hours, and I told Gavin I’d be right back...And I knew he was seeing someone else. I  _ knew _ our marriage wasn't as strong as before. I wasn't naive. But I didn't  _ think,  _ I mean who thinks to screw the neighbor. The house right across from our’s no less.” Gwen laughs. “I get a phone call from Gavin’s best friend, Malcolm. Right when I was leaving..”

The drag of the soft sponge is the only thing keeping her grounded as she speaks, the warm water rolling over her skin serving as a reminder of what took her baby boy.

“He drowned. Zuma was taking a nap in his crib. Gavin left King–his name was Kingston...he left him outside to play while he went across the street to get laid. The paramedics said that he must have tripped over his shoelaces and hit his head on the edge of the pool before he went in. And he couldn't–” Gwen chokes off. “He couldn't swim back up because one of the laces got caught on the pool drain and he–by the time Gavin got back and realized what happened...he was gone.”

Fingertips brush lightly up Gwen’s side, turning on the down-stroke, the edge of Blake’s soft nail tickling along her ribs. He takes a deep breath as he draws his hand up and exhales slowly on the way down. Gwen follows his lead, focusing on the feel of Blake’s hands expanding against her skin, and when he leans down, the hot rush of breath against her neck.

After a time, Blake speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re here. Be here.”

Gwen runs a soaked hand through his hair. “There's nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

After, Blake leaves her to soak. Gwen can hear him speaking softly on the phone in the next room. Between the heat and scent of the water, the lingering afterglow, and the lyrical tones of Blake’s deep voice, she finds herself dozing off.

By the time she rises from the bath, the water has gone cold and her skin red. She wraps herself in the robe Blake left for her and goes back into the bedroom. There’s a tray on the table covered in dishes: eggs, yogurt with fruit, and fresh juice.

The doors to his terrace are open and Blake is basking in the sun, sitting on one of the chairs. He’s wearing shorts and a shirt but his curls are shining and his skin is sun kissed. Grinning, Gwen grabs a slice of toast and goes to sit beside him.

Blake smiles when he sees her. “Adam is up,” Blake says. “The kids are still asleep.” He takes a sip from his coffee mug. “I have to ask...we didn't use protection…”

“I'm on the pill. I thought about getting my tubes tied just because he...won't stop. But birth control seemed less scary.”

Blake nods, goes back to sipping his coffee.

Gwen tears off a piece of bread and chews it quietly, eyes focused on his profile. “Who do you talk to when you take your phone calls?” She looks up at him, considering, before breaking off another piece to eat.

“Why do you let him do that stuff to you?” Blake asks instead of answering.

“Excuse me?”

“Gavin. He killed your son and you divorced him, like you're supposed to. But why do you let him abuse you like that?”

“...You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I wouldn't. I don't. But you can try and explain it to me.”

“Are we really going to talk about this right now?”

“Gwen, please.”

He’s sitting at the same table, waiting for her to join him, in mind and in emotions perhaps. Because he’s seething quietly, with his ankle crossed over knee, cheek propped against his fingers. The very picture of sophistication except there's nothing sophisticated about him. Gwen can't bring herself to feel those same angry emotions. It's been years since King died, years that Gavin’s found her everywhere she's moved to, years of the same sex with the same man in the same night. So she can't feel what Blake, an outsider, is feeling right now. Looking at him, her chest feels too full it almost hurts.

“People cheat, fall in love, disappoint each other, and then die. I've been cheated on. I've fallen in love. I've been disappointed. The only thing I haven't done is died. And I wish I could tell you that I fight as strongly every time. That I remember my worth. But he’s not gonna stop until one or both of us is dead.”

“Gwen–”

“He’ll take everything from me. He already took one son away you don't think he’ll try again with the next one. Zuma is all I have, Blake. And Gavin….I don't know what he's capable of. I don't want Zuma to grow up with a father like that. I have to protect him. So if I have to roll over and take it a couple of nights out of the year...then so be it. My dignity, my  _ pride,  _ it's not worth me losing the only son I have left.”

Blake wets his lips but otherwise makes no effort to move or say anything else.

Seeing Blake just sitting there in his chair, legs crossed now, chin still in hand, Gwen only wants to go to him. Climb into his lap. Push close until she hears the steady beat of his heart, feels his hands warm and possessive pressing against her back.

“You can't be mad at someone for surviving.” Blake doesn’t even acknowledge that and Gwen feels the pit in her stomach growing. “I do what I have to do just like you did what you had to do when Adam needed your help,” Gwen says.

The way Blake’s eyes slit, the pinched lips, the tense line of his hunched shoulders all suggest that Gwen should probably stay silent.

“Our situations are completely different.” He finally speaks.

“Are they?”

“Yes,” he almost shouts. “What are you gonna do when we get back. Because despite how insane  you sound right now, I still want you to come home with me. I wanna be together. I want you to be a part of my family and I want to be a part of Zuma’s life. And I know you want that too. So what do you think is gonna happen if he finds you? You gonna roll over and take it? You think I'm just gonna let you? You think I won't kill him?”

Gwen tells herself she doesn’t feel uneasy, getting up and walking away from him into the bedroom. But Blake is quiet now at her own petty silence, seething once again in his chair. Almost dismissive of her as she leaves.

Uneasy and discontent, Gwen storms through the halls into the sitting room where Zuma and Sage are watching TV and eating. Their backs are facing her so they don't notice her presence, or where she’s just come from. But Adam does. He's sitting on the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal and checking his phone. When he looks up at her, she pulls her robe closer and walks quietly to the open rolling doors and into the morning air.

She crosses her arms over her chest as though she’s cold. There's a strong breeze coming off the water, ruffling through her hair, normally she would take comfort from such a sensation. Now her mind is occupied with thoughts of running. Just running far from here and everywhere she's ever been victimized. Sometimes she doesn't even want to take Zuma and other times he's the only thing that reminds her that she can't leave.

Gwen clenches her teeth, clenches her fists, imagining King tripping and falling, so scared, tearing and thrashing in the water, and ripping away everything good in Gwen’s life as he went.


	7. This is the way it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from a beautiful song by Paul McCartney called This Never Happened Before. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far. <3

“Gwen,” Blake whispers, the word transforming his mouth into a grimace as it leaves his lips.   
  
Gwen stands off to the side of the house now, watching the next door neighbor kids swim in their luxiourious pool. Gwen smiles, the same hush affecting her own voice. “Blake.”   
  
She feels him coming closer, his bare feet crunching the soft grass as he does. He stops just behind her, forehead coming down to rest upon her shoulder, a loud exhale tickling the skin of her exposed back where the robe fell and dropped down over one shoulder. “I'm sorry.” He says. 

The two boys take turns jumping and flipping into the water. The sound of their laughter reaches her ears and Gwen’s heart swells with something akin to happiness.

“Gwen.”

She takes her time turning around, eyes giving up the sight of sweet children to accept the sight of bitter reality. She reaches up to touch Blake’s face, to draw her thumb from Blake’s temple to the flat of his jaw. He fixes his eyes on hers, dark eyes, hungry and angry but too overwhelmed to choose the former. Gwen drops her own hurt and winds her arms around Blake’s waist, pressing her face into Blake’s neck and breathing deeply until Gwen’s sure her nose won’t immediately forget the scent there, like grass and traces of cigarette smoke from Adam, a different, more succulent smell than the woodsy flavor Gwen remembers.

Her forehead fits the curve beneath Blake’s jaw when she stands on her tippy toes; her arms reach perfectly around the circle of Blake’s torso. Blake holds her back, shifting minutely to nose around her ear. She bites her lip when his fingers thread through her hair and his other hand comes to rest comfortably in between Gwen’s shoulders. His touch is disconcerting, mainly because it has so many layers, none of which she can decipher and none of which she can comfortably relax to.

“I’m not used to this." He says.

“It doesn't give you the right to say those things to me.”

"I know," Blake says sharply, abruptly, still angry, probably will be until he can find some closure for himself. Gwen wonders what form it will come in, if she’ll even be there by the time it comes.

His grip tightens on her and yet it’s oddly gentle, caressing. It stings but it mends. Gwen thinks she understands now, maybe, that Blake does not understand the range of touch between a musician’s delicate precision and a gardener's grubby technique. And doesn’t that make sense? Blake can create art, and Blake can tear that art from the root but Blake can do nothing in between because he exists–truly, honestly, actually exists–only in those extremes.

What happened to  _ you _ , Gwen does not ask, because she’s terrified the answer will be,   _ absolutely nothing _ .

No wonder she loves him, already. He’ll build her from the ground up and pick her from the sky down, every time.  

“I'm sorry.” She doesn't know what she’s sorry for exactly. Making him mad, bringing him into her mess of a life, not stopping herself from falling for him from the beginning. She realizes it doesn't matter though, because she spoke the words into his heart, her mouth hovering just above the warm skin covered by thin material.

Blake starts to lean back with a sigh, brushing his cheek with Gwen’s and his hair with Gwen’s and his nose with Gwen’s. Their lips touch, and Gwen’s eyes fall closed around a sigh. “Loving you and being loved by you is like standing over a fire.” She whispers right there, in the space and the breath that only they occupy in this moment–in this world. “I need the warmth–the heat–but I don't wanna get burned.” And maybe it's the wrong thing to say. But it sounds like a song, and Gwen can never resists the truth of a lyric, the truth itself. Even if he doesn't really deserve that truth.

She loves him. And she kisses him. She takes Blake’s cheeks in her hands and holds him still. There is a naked, innocent sincerity in every brush of their mouths, every catch of his lip against her. She forces herself to duck her head, put some space between them, because it needs to be said again, purposefully, the right way. Whether Blake deserves it or not is entirely beside the point. Gwen loves him, and that rarely has anything to do with being deserving.

“I love you.”

The silence that follows is expected, but no less heartbreaking. Blake has this ethereal quality about him that reminds her of everything she feels in touch with in this world and in the next. He reminds her of grass, the very air that she breathes, the fresh water that heals and the chlorine that kills. He reminds her of the blood pumping through her organs and children dying, children being disappointed, and children laughing. He reminds her of how important sadness is and how detrimental happiness can be. And no matter how long he takes staring at her, after, those reminders will not dwindle. She refuses to let them fade as he stands there paralyzed. It’s several minutes before he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“What?” Blake sounds confused,  _ bless him _ , sounds achingly, pathetically mortal, like any man who can’t understand when a good woman chooses to feel everything for him while telling herself to feel nothing for her own sake. Just so she can be stronger, unbreakable. Resilient.

She fists her hands in the back of Blake’s shirt and leans in for a kiss. She silences his muddled thoughts this way and Blake’s fingers move slowly through Gwen’s hair after a few unsure moments, tickling with his nails all down her scalp and jolting her right in her stomach when he catches on the occasional tangle. She changes the angle and kisses Blake again, softly, and Blake’s hand leaves her hair in favor of her neck. Blake licks her lips and opens her mouth when Gwen kisses him a third time.

It’s so easy kissing Blake. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Easier than telling him she loves him. Gwen loses herself in it, it feels so good and effortless. When she pulls away to breathe, she remembers that she has things to tell Blake, so many things that aren’t quite for now but that will come later when they’re really alone, when they’re back on solid ground and not this bubble they’ve been floating in for the past day. Blake has things to tell her, too, she’s sure. 

Gwen looks into Blake’s eyes and where his eyes reflected all the light surrounding them, Gavin’s sucked it all in. Gwen’s tired of looking in the dark.

“Gwen...You love me?” Blake whispers and the words catch in the air and hang there over her head.

Gwen doesn't say it again, because it doesn't feel right to, not when he hasn't said it back. Which is also fine. Her love was simply stated as a fact because it is and if the words don't find him immediately, then she doesn't need to hear them.

She gives a slight tilt of her head and smiles when Blake starts leaving butterfly kisses from her cheek to her hairline.

“We should go back inside. We can talk later,” Gwen says when Blake starts a path down her neck. Zuma will be wondering about her any minute and not to mention the boys next door who have a clear view of them if they so happen to look over. 

“Or now,” Blake murmurs, easing his arm around her waist and tugging her even closer.

Gwen smiles and accepts the burning kiss Blake gives her. But she backs away when her mind starts reasoning with her desires and Blake follows her until they’re pressed up against the house.

“Blake,” she murmurs when he moves away from her mouth to brush her cheek and jaw with soft, warm lips. “You’re just going to have me right here?”

“Why not?” Blake bends down to kiss her neck, and Gwen’s complaints vanish into thin air. She drops her head back so it thumps the wall. In between a series of soft bites, Blake whispers, “Careful.”

“Shut up,” Gwen breathes around a grin, insinuating her hands under Blake’s shirt.

Blake’s hands slide along Gwen’s hips and squeeze. “Will you stay another night?”

“Uh, sure.” Gwen licks her lips and gets her fingers in Blake’s hair. “Wait, what?”

“Stay another night. Zuma told me yesterday that he doesn’t have school on Monday. So stay.”

“Blake–”

“I'm not ready to go back.”

She hesitates. “I have work.”

He sighs. “You can't just–nevermind. Okay, I’ll–we’ll–” Blake tries to keep talking, but Gwen stops him with a kiss. The words she meant to say struggle to be spoken. Gwen’s just about to pull away again when the screen doors open, saving her from having to do it purely on her own accord. She leans back just enough to disconnect their mouths when she sees that it's only Adam but makes no move to remove her arms from around Blake’s shoulders.

“Yes?” Blake sighs, taking one of his hands off Gwen’s hip to rub at his forehead.

“Miranda called,” Adam says simply.

Blake groans and moves out of her arms to properly look at Adam. Something about the way they stare at each other bothers her more than Blake’s appearance, hinting at what they were just doing before Adam came outside. Gwen checks, and yes, Blake is pleasantly, obviously ruffled. From his hair and his shirt but instead of his signature smirk, Blake’s deep frown is in place and he says, so naturally nonchalant that Gwen’s insides twist, “Tell her we’re on vacation.”

“Blake–”

“I can't come to the phone Adam.” Blake says bluntly, tone suggesting a warning, his eyes flickering over into her general direction.

Gwen flushes out of confusion when Adam turns his focused gaze on her.

“Adam.” Blake says sharply, now.

The younger man’s eyes snap to his best friend before nodding once and turning to go back inside.

Blake looks at her, and looks away again, his attention solely behind her.

“Are you okay? Are things…?” She trails off, her tone concerned.   
  
“Yes,” he grunts noncommittally, moving to walk into her space again. 

Gwen backs away, “Blake...”   
  
“I’m fine, Gwen,” he says abruptly, avoiding her gaze. He can’t look at her, and Gwen can't accept that. 

She puts her hand out to stop his intentions. “Who’s Miranda?” 

“No one, Gwen.” Blake says, and does manage to get his arms around her again. She looks up at him curious, wondering why he's lying to her.

Blake kisses her again, the slow, burning type that always builds into something more. Gwen stops him short, or she tries to.

“Come on,” Blake mumbles into her cheek, running two warm hands down Gwen’s chest, around her sides, up her back beneath her robe.

“Why won't you tell me?”

“Gwen–”

“Why are you lying?”

“I’m not. She's nothin to me. You know that, look at me. Look at me.”

She sighs, tries to lean away from his intense gaze but Blake’s grip tightens.

“What? What is it?” He murmurs back, sounding frustrated and maybe even a little vulnerable.

“I don’t want this to become a distraction,” Gwen says quietly. “I don’t want your hands on my body to be a coping mechanism for you. That’s not fair to me.”

Blake buries his face in her neck. “It’s not.”

“Don't use me like that. Not to hide stuff from me. Don't distract me with that.” She feels old insecurities creeping up, courtesy of Gavin.

Gwen looks at the water over Blake’s head, lightly scratching her nails over the back of his neck, his hair ruffling her soft skin as he nods.

“We’ll stay one more day.”

Blake lifts his head to look at her.

“Promise me you’ll find the time to tell me. Until we talk, I don’t want your hands on me..”

She feels Blake thinking it over, maybe even wondering if there’s a way he can persuade her to do what he wants. After a few deep, shaky breaths, he says, “Okay.” Blake nods once, his expression closed off in a way that makes Gwen’s chest tighten painfully. They stare at each other and the quiet left in the aftermath of Blake’s sweet, deep voice rings in Gwen’s ears like tiny bells.

Gwen goes to say something but her mouth shuts close when Blake lowers himself to his knees, kneeling in front of her on the grass. He stays seated but looks up at Gwen. For a moment, even the outside feels stifled for lack of breathable air, but in the next moment Blake buries his face in her stomach. She’s sure if she gave him permission to use his hands, he would be holding on without a word.

He makes a small sound at the feel of Gwen’s fingers in his hair but still doesn’t say anything. Gwen doesn’t know what to do.

It's several minutes before she hears him again.

“How’s your heart?”

His voice is muffled by the robe and Gwen thinks about how  _ needless _ it all is, love, relationships, marriage. They just breathe to hold on and hold on to die. And yet...

“Open.”

Gwen wonders if it will always feel like this—if the most they’ll ever be able to do is hold on, if they’ll ever be sturdier than this.

Blake leans back far enough to look at Gwen. “Don't leave me once I tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Just don't leave. Don't hate me.”

Gwen leans down and kisses him, and after a few seconds Blake reciprocates. Gwen takes her time feeling and re-mapping the contours and textures of Blake’s lips against hers, soft and warm and yielding when she pushes into him a little bit more. He makes a very soft noise and presses back. His mouth edges open when Gwen kisses him again, but she keeps her kisses purposefully chaste, lifting her hands to rove feather light over his arms and his shoulders. She smooths one palm gently up Blake’s throat so that her fingertips graze the point of Blake’s chin and his head tips back to break their kiss.

Eyes hooded and lips red and parted, Blake blinks up at her, clearly struggling to think around whatever daze she’s rendered him into. When he doesn’t make any move to speak, Gwen keeps her hand planted delicately on Blake’s throat and leans over him to nip at the lips left exposed.

“I could never hate you.” She mumbles into his cheek.

Blake grumbles something unintelligible, clears his throat, and tries again, “You will. I'm just askin if you can try and hold off for as long as possible.”

Gwen has had maybe one or two after Gavin over the past years. She knows what it's like to divulge certain secrets while breathing in fear that those same revelations will be the means to an end. She was afraid Blake wouldn’t want her after she told him of the abuse, but he did, he still does. He's here. So Gwen nods and lets her hand slip down to Blake’s chest to cover his heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and strong. Gwen didn’t expect anything else, but she’s still thrillingly infatuated with the contrast; the delirious murmuring she gets out of Blake when he speaks and they stand up together.

“More weeds than worth,” Blake mumbles.

“What?”

“You’re suppose to hear the person out. Let them try to make sense of it to you, and if you see more weeds than worth,” Blake considers, and then shrugs. “You burn the field.”

It’s like ice water dumped on her head. Gwen takes her hands back and straightens out, moving too fast, in all likelihood, for the gesture to seem even remotely relaxed.

“It's what my mama used to say about my dad.” He explains.

“What are you saying then?” She asks quietly.

Blake shrugs, “I'm sayin you won't be the only one to get burned, here.”

 

* * *

Kelly’s birthday bash is the only party out of the year where everyone can get shitfaced because they don't have to drive themselves home. She has it on the same day every year at the same house and for the most part, Blake and Adam have managed to be at every one. When Behati passed away, they missed a few years and sent a card with warm wishes, not really in the mood to have a good time. But this year, it's almost symbolic for Blake. They’re back, he's back. And he’s with someone, really with someone that doesn't have an ulterior motive, that  _ loves  _ him, despite the short time that they’ve known each other. That fact in itself starts the party on a high note but he knows it will end on a negative one when he thinks back to their conversation earlier in the yard. The impending Miranda talk that Blake is not looking forward to having. He tries to block it out by drinking twice as much as he would normally but slows down when Kelly gives him a look.

Reba is already endearingly drunk and Donald surprisingly less so as he steers her out on the dance floor. Blake is one of the more sober members of their group, but that isn’t saying much.

The rest of the party-goers talk and drink and eat. A couple swim in the pool, others play corn-hole, and the even drunker ones are bowling in the basement. Blake thinks Sage would love to be here right now just so she can beat everyone at it but they opted to leave the kids at home for this one. 

Blake finds himself sitting upstairs on the couch, nursing a beer. RaeLynn sits next to him, holding four Uno cards in her hand, her eyes focused and just a bit glossy around the pupils. She’s playing a round with Josh, Brandon, Luke, and Carrie.

Arabella steals Adam away with a shy smile, and Blake thinks on the fact that he hasn't even said one word to the woman who’s not necessarily taking Behati’s place in Adam’s heart but certainly making one for herself. 

“You mind if I ask your pretty girl to dance?” Donald is soused enough that his words slur together. Blake will be so unsympathetic to his complaints in the morning about a hangover.  

“Don, do you even have a type? How do you go from a redhead to a blonde in a matter of minutes?” Blake asks, amusement in his tone of voice.

“I don't have a type.”

Brandon laughs. “Everyone’s got a type.”

“Donald doesn’t have a type,” Carrie insists, holding an icy water bottle to her feverish forehead. “He barely registers physical attraction.”   
  
“Wait, what does that mean?” Josh looks from Carrie to Blake and Donald, helplessly confused. “Wait aren’t you gay?”   
  
Blake can't help but snort. 

“Yeah he is,” RaeLynn supplies.

Luke coos, “Some people like to know a person before they fall into bed with them, Josh.”   
  
“Well what does he like to get to know in a person then?” Brandon asks. 

Carrie considers the modified question for a few seconds and says, “Well, it’d have to be someone who’s as into fashion as he is.”   
  
“So Gwen,” Josh answers flatly. “She talked my ear off earlier about the fall collection. I didn’t even know shirts and shoes had collections. I mean it was interesting and she's really beautiful when she talks about things she’s passionate about–” 

“Okay,” Luke muses, noticing Blake narrowed eyes. “You do realize we just said Don is gay right? Gwen’s a woman.”

“I’m still tryin to figure out how you’ve known him all these years and didn't know he liked–” RaeLynn clasps a hand over his mouth before Blake can finish his sentence. 

“That's a gross word don't say it.”

Carrie snorts behind her hand. Brandon chuckles and Luke rubs his hand across his forehead, a small smile on his face.

When he gets his mouth back, Blake takes a sip of his beer and mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

“Okay, so sue me,” Josh interjects in a loud voice. “I know an alarming amount of unimportant details about all of you but I blame everyone who opted out of telling me that he is.” 

“This isn't some conspiracy, Josh. You’re just really dense.” Brandon says.

“Stupid is the word you’re lookin for.”

That gets Blake an elbow from RaeLynn and he sticks his tongue out at her for it.

The Uno game continues and Blake is pleasantly buzzing in his seat. Gwen tiptoes back into the living room around an hour later to proudly announce that she won at corn-hole with Maren on her team. Blake watches her with his cheek in hand and a disarmingly fond expression on his face. Gwen comes to sit on the edge of the couch by him, arm draped over the back of his shoulders, hand playing in his hair. Luke won the game for the third time in a row and the group switched to telling old stories. Josh had fallen asleep, and Brandon and Don took to drawing on his face. So it was the rest of them who sat up together and at one point were subjected to listening to Carson’s enchanting accounts of the dinosaurs that inhabited Europe millions of years ago.   
  
Gwen leans down to rest against him, tells Blake in a small voice that she would love for him to take her somewhere else. Blake calmly reminds himself that this was going to happen sooner rather than later and if he ever wanted even the slightest chance of putting his hands back on Gwen, he needed to tell her. 

He promised one meaningful conversation, so Blake excuses them from the storytelling and heads to the kitchen, Gwen following behind him. He takes down clean wine glasses for the very tasty Rhône Reba let him sample earlier before pouring and carries both their glasses out back when Gwen holds the door open for him.

The wine is almost purple in color and a very powerful flavor all on its own. Gwen takes one of the deck chairs and sits, swirling her glass and watching Blake play with the porch lights. The way Kelly’s house is built and positioned, it's like she has two back yards and Gwen is thankful that Blake picked the one that only houses a tree house and wonderful beds of flowers. There’s no people back here save for them.

He lowers the lights almost to the point that she can’t see his face in the shadow, but her eyes adjust and she can see it all just fine. Blake looks like a ruddy burgundy flame in the darkness. In her blue dress, she herself looks like a pool of water. They’re such a contrast and yet they fit so perfectly.

Blake pulls his chair close to Gwen’s, and it’s a very intimate thing, neither close nor obvious but very special and private all the same. Gwen holds her glass in one hand and traces Blake’s wrist with the other.

“Nine years ago, I had a fling with this girl. And it was just that. A couple nights where I didn't wake up in my own bed. I was in Oklahoma at the time,” Blake muses softly.

“What’s Oklahoma like?”

“Another world out there. You can see the stars every night. Sometimes durin the day.”

Maybe it’s Blake’s accent that has her smiling like an idiot, or perhaps the carefully chosen words that seem to roll off his tongue so effortlessly as he talks about where he’s from, but Gwen loves the sound of it. She leans over and steals a kiss off his cheek.

“Sounds beautiful. Will you take me there one day?”

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I told you I wanted more. I hoped we could have more. After tonight I'm not so sure you’ll even want more.”

Blake brushes Gwen’s knuckles with his thumb. The night is warm. Far off, maybe the next street over, she can hear a car door slamming if she listens hard enough, the noise of the social variety. She doesn’t have to wait long for the sounds to fade and cease altogether. Gwen asks, “What did you do that was so bad?” 

There’s a charged, frenetic moment of silence between them filled by the whir of insects in the trees. Gwen holds her wine through it and waits, in no hurry to hear or speak or leave. She’s ready to just wait for as long as she needs to, but Blake doesn’t make her do it for long. When he tugs for his hand back Gwen releases him immediately, gentle and patient through it all. Blake starts slow, finding his words and the story long buried beneath them at a safe, measured pace.

“Like I said, she was just some girl,” Blake swallows. “Until she wasn't. I started to...fall for her.”

Gwen is careful not to squeeze the glass too hard between her hands. She doesn't want to assume, doesn't want her mind to go to those place, so she doesn’t speak while Blake assembles his thoughts and the speech to create them. The cicadas drone their songs in the darkness of the night closing in around them.

“Miranda was gonna be the one,” Blake says, struggling around the name. He laughs, but Gwen can see light catching on the tears welled up in his eyes. “And I thought for a moment there that the world wasn't as cold as everyone made it out to be.” He nods, face still turned toward her, though his eyes look out distantly to the yard. “But it was.”

Blake knocks back a fast drink of the wine, taking no care to savor it. “It is.” He corrects himself and then after a moment’s silence, he continues. “I found out she was cheating. I ended it very quickly after that. And not even a week later, Bee calls me.” Blake laughs again, the sound bitter to her ears. “I just lose the woman I was startin to fall in love with and then one of my best friends is on the verge of dying and will in a couple of months. Just out of the blue, neither even gave me a chance to process it all. And part of me was relieved. Part of me was happy that somethin was wrong, because then I could get away. I had an excuse to run. I wasn't a coward if I left for all of this–all of them. And so I settled everythin at the bar and the restaurant and packed my things.”

Blake searches the sky as if retracing the memory and counting the stars as he does. “Eight years and she finds me. Shows up out of nowhere with a kid and a suitcase. And I'm...I was happy. Any other guy...probably not. But me? I had a son.”

He tosses a weary smile in Gwen’s direction, but his eyes don’t travel beyond her knee. Blake bunches his shoulders up slowly, maybe not even aware that he’s doing it.

“His name was Noah.” Blake says, fingering the bowl of the wine glass. “Noah had CCHD.”

Gwen stares at Blake, waiting patiently for an explanation and when Blake finally looks at her, a small smile flutters across his lips. “You don't know what that is, right...CCHD is critical congenital heart disease. There's seven of them. Noah had TAPVR which is total anomalous pulmonary venous return.” Blake shakes his head. “The veins that are suppose to take blood from the lungs to the heart don’t connect to the heart the right way. It causes blood to circle back and forth between the heart and the lungs. But blood never flows out to the rest of the body like it should. When Miranda told me about his condition, I didn’t know what to do. What do you say to somethin like that. I mean he was basically dyin the older he got. He already had two open heart surgeries when he was born and the doctors told Ran that he would need at least three more to live a normal life.” 

Gwen drops her gaze from Blake’s face to his shoulder once she sees the lines in his eyes and around his mouth contort into something painful.

“Miranda’s insurance didn't cover the surgery so I was gonna fit the bill. We set up his appointments, got a surgery date, met with the doctors...me and Miranda grew closer again. I got to know my son.”

His breathing goes erratic, and Gwen watches, frozen, as he tips his head back and blinks around tears that escape and run quickly down his cheeks to his chin. His voice becomes thready and more heavily accented. “I was happy. As much as you can be. And then I met Luke for some drinks one night. I told him everythin. And he was supportive. He understood, and was sorry for me, which didn't bother me at the time. But then he said–he  _ asked _ me if the kid was mine. Just casually as if we were talkin about the weather and not my failings as a man. Because why didn't that occur to me? Why didn't I think about Miranda’s affair? But I said of course he was mine. Eight years, and here he is. Here they both are. He's mine.”

Blake presses the heel of his hand against his eyes. “That night I took his toothbrush and that mornin I got it tested.”

She considers reaching for him, but she can’t tell if Blake would welcome the touch or if he needs to get the demons out of him first. Gwen waits, and Blake downs the last of his wine before leaning forward to set the glass down roughly on the wooden deck. The flinch waiting under her skin holds through the sudden burst of sound. Blake straightens out in his seat and clears his throat, shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight.

“He wasn't mine...Brown hair, blue eyes...He wasn't mine.” His voice darkens, pain and fear possessing him simultaneously. “I didn't tell Miranda. I didn't know if she knew who the father was, if she really believed that Noah was mine. And it weighed me down. I drank a lot, didn't come home at night...And his surgery was comin up. Finally, Ran asked me what the problem was, why I was so distant. She said, that's our son dyin in the other room. And that’s when I told her.”

Blake’s lip quivers, and he hides it with his hand before closing his eyes and composing himself. “The look she gave me….As if–like  _ I  _ was bein selfish...She knew I wasn't Noah’s father. But I had money, and it was  _ eight years ago.  _ And I was so angry, Gwen. I was so mad at her. But how could I be? I can't blame her for tryin to keep her son alive. She was tryin to survive just like you. She’d do anythin for that boy just like you’d do anythin for Zuma.”

Blake opens his eyes finally to look at her. “He had heart failure a couple of days later. Two days in fact after the surgery he was supposed to have. I got shitfaced at a bar when Adam came to take me home. And  _ he  _ was so angry with  _ me.  _ Told me to grow up. Who cared if the kid wasn’t mine? Sage and Dusty weren't and I would give my life for them so why couldn’t I do the same for Noah? He had a point. Noah didn’t even ask to be here, didn't ask to be born with a broken heart. And I got one that works, that's beating and pumping blood through my body so why can't I at least use mine to make him better?”

A shiver builds in Gwen’s spine, anticipating the worst of it to come now. She holds her breath, and Blake continues.

“I had Adam drive me to the hospital. I was gonna give whatever doctors needed the money to do the surgery that night. I was gonna walk in the hero, the father Noah deserved regardless of the biology.”

Blake pauses, takes a deep breath, and levels Gwen with a solemn expression that takes her breath away. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“He died fifteen minutes before I got there. His heart stopped. And after reviving him twice...he just went. Didn't come back a third time.”

Blake flexes and relaxes his fingers, staring at his hand all the while. “I tell you I'm good at takin care of other people's kids because I am. I'm just not good at takin care of my own or at least the ones I think are my own.”

“I let a little boy die because to my surprise, I was, in fact, a coward.” Blake says, speaking through tension that makes his accent sound much thicker. Gwen hears him take a stuttering breath. “No matter how long ago it happened, I’m still terrified of the moment when he was taken from me, a moment I wasn't even there for. And I know you can't expect a man like me to take care of you and your son. But I tell you I wanna take care of you and Zuma because I need to, Gwen. You’re not redemption. This is not me tryin to redeem myself. You’re my second chance. And I could use a second chance right now.”

“Why does she still call you?” Gwen asks, scanning the yard blearily with unseeing eyes. She feels numb.

Blake sighs, “I didn’t hold her. I didn't cry with her. I didn't do anythin after Noah died. I drove to Adam’s house and I hugged Sage and called Dusty. I went home and drank a beer and sat on the couch with my dog. And when Adam came to the house, he sat with me the whole night. I didn't answer any of her calls. I didn't attend the funeral. It was like I...like I never met them, like I didn't know them. And part of me wishes I hadn't. So she calls from time to time. And I guess she needs some closure. Because I let her son die and she needs to hear–I don’t know what she need to hear. But I do know there’s nothin I can say that will change anythin. It's been a year and I haven't spoken one word to her. The phone calls...that's her friend, Ashley. She wants me to sit down with her. I guess Miranda’s callin my friends now, and they want me to  _ do  _ somethin but I just–I  _ can't. _ ”

“You can,” Gwen says, voice soft and muffled. She reaches out for Blake’s hand again. She slides her thumb over the back of soft skin, glad to provide a touch that grounds them both. She sighs, turning so her cheek rests against the back of the chair. “You’ve already went a year with this dragging behind you. And if you don't want to do this for her then do it for yourself. Because you take one look at me and Zuma and feel the need to not repeat the same mistakes. I want you to look at us, not as a another chance, but a gift. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone Blake. You did nothing wrong. And I know you feel like you did but she could have gone to any man. She probably did, and those people might have turned her down as well. Why aren't they to blame? They could have saved that little boy. You are not responsible for helping every person you love. If everyone was, I wouldn't have been raped, my son wouldn't have died, Adam’s wife would still be here...sometimes you can't help everyone. Sometimes the people you love can't be helped.”

“You deserve good things Blake. I’ve tried to be still inside for so long, tried to care and not to care. I try to remember the pain Gavin caused me so I can see the joy Zuma gives me. I'm terrified of what I’ve sacrifice, of everything being for nothing in the end. I deserve good things. You are a good person Blake. I'm a good person. And you know what good people deserve?”

She leans over and rests her head on Blake’s shoulder, face pressed against his neck. “They deserve each other.”

Gwen knows what type of man Blake is. Not a hair or stitch out of place, yet he's a mess. Not a beat of his heart that is not noticed and allowed, yet he's reckless with love.

A blustery sigh washes over Gwen’s hair, and Blake turns to press his forehead down into her scalp. “...I love you.”

Reckless.

Gwen sniffles once and straightens out, setting her glass down on her sturdy armrest as an afterthought. She pulls Blake in for a tight hug that she almost can’t breathe around for their intensity. A steady stream of tears slides down Gwen’s cheek where her and Blake’s faces touch.

Gwen doesn't know what it's like to be covered in someone’s blood. But she thinks it would feel a lot like this. Warm, strong, potent,  _ frightening _ .

“More worth than weeds,” Gwen breathes, running one hand up and down Blake’s back. With her other she scrunches his hair in her fingers. “Instead of burning the field...I want to plant a new one with you.”

She almost falls off the chair when Blake buries his face in her neck to laugh. Still tipsy, though now pleasantly so, Blake says into Gwen’s ear. “Sunflowers aren't cheap to plant.” 

Gwen holds on and hides her smile in his shoulder. “Lucky for you, you’re loaded.”

She closes her eyes when Blake kisses her, lips soft and moving slowly against hers. Gwen’s fingers skate across his forehead, brushing his hair away. “Lie in the grass with me,” she murmurs against his lips.

Blake spares the gorgeous black sky a parting glance and grins, standing up. “Keep your hands to yourself drunky.”

He switches off the porch lights, leaving her in the dark and grabs a blanket from one of the patio’s  compartment containers. He sprawls out on the blanket with Gwen once he lays it out for them on the ground. The stars look brighter now than they did before, probably because the lights have all been extinguished.

Blake lifts his arm when she turns and wraps herself around his side. Gwen toes off her shoes and watches the deep purple-black sky above them, cheek laid flat against her boyfriend’s heartbeat. Fingers scratch idly at the nape of her neck.

“Thank you for giving me this gift,” Blake says, almost out of nowhere.

Gwen smiles and gives Blake a soft look. “Thank you for showing me what I deserve.”

She relaxes into Blake’s hold with a long contented sigh.

A field of flowers. It's all ahead of them, now.

The sounds of nightfall swim and buzz around them and Gwen thinks of three boys picking flowers and swimming lazily in a stream.


	8. And where I stood was where I was to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from a beautiful song by Sara Bareilles, called Once Upon Another Time. Have a listen, read this, and tell me what you think so far. <3

Gwen wakes to the scent of fresh coffee brewing and bacon cooking. Gwen rolls over and sees Blake plucking a couple of strings from a guitar.

“Mornin,” he greets her with a grin.

Gwen stretches out like a cat and the sheet barely covers her as she does. Blake's eyes rake the length of her and this time it doesn’t make her blush. “Is it bad that I can't remember how we got home from the party last night.”

Blake emits a small chuckle, “That last glass of wine got to ya. But don't worry I was a perfect gentlemen.”

She stares right at him. “Then why am I naked?”

“Why is water wet.” Blake says simply.

Gwen laughs and smiles at him warmly. “Fair point. Who’s cooking?”

Blake pours a cup of coffee from the french press and chuckles deeply, “Sage, so let's pray we don't get food poisonin.”

Gwen pulls the sheet around her and walks over to him as he sits in the plush chair in the corner of the room. Gwen straddles his lap and takes the cup of coffee from his hand taking a sip. “We go back today,” she whispers sitting a little more firmly upon him.

He grunts softly.

Gwen sets his coffee down and leans into his chest. She kisses him deeply until he responds and feels his hands press against her low back. Gwen unbuttons his Hawaiian patterned shirt and unties the drawstrings to his swim shorts while Blake’s own hands sift through the sheet until their skin touches. He was already wanting for her and Gwen rose up only to sink down on him slowly making them both gasp.

It was slow the way his hands guided her hips and kissed her with a gentle passion as they moved together. Not a word was spoken only the sharp breathing as their mouths tasted each other again and again.

His eyes watch with lazy fascination and Gwen can’t look away from him. It wasn’t rough or fast. It was just them together. Soft moans mix with kisses as she moves on top of him and feels it building quickly.

Gwen becomes so lost in it all that she begins to shake in his arms. Blake kisses her deeply and she can feel him follow her into that bliss. His head rests on the back of the chair as eyes stare beneath skin and bones and blood.

He sees me, she thinks.

Gwen looks down at him and knows she would follow him anywhere. Gwen can't imagine feeling this way for another man ever again.

“I think we’re perfect for each other.” She says as her breathing works to become normal again.

Blake is still looking at her but now a small frown is etched into the lines around his face. His chest rises rapidly still and Gwen enjoys the sight. “I’m not perfect.” He says.

“No, you’re not. Neither am I. But I know what you’re like and that's what makes you perfect for me.”

“How do you know what I’m like?” Blake asks with genuine curiosity.

“I know what you’re like because I know how you were hurt. I know that there’s more to it than just what you’ve told me, and maybe there’s so much more that I’ll never know the extent of what was done to you. But you’re like me in the sense that we’re not like everybody else. We’re perfect for each other in that way.”

“You should write music.” He says in reply.

The comment isn't what she was expecting. “You think?”

“Every thing that comes out of your mouth is somethin that many people probably feel and want to say but never do. It's like I'm listenin to a song every time you talk to me.”

Gwen smiles and gently moves off him. “Well I think my songs are missing a melody and you’re the one with the guitar…” She says, wrapping the sheet around her again and leaving him sprawled out on the chair. “I need a shower. Is Zuma up,” she asks abruptly, stopping in the doorway conjoining the two rooms.

Blake shakes his head. Gwen feels guilty about the sigh of relief and looks apologetic as soon as he hears it. It was another talk they needed to have, and even though she’s positive allowing this man around her son will be a good thing for everyone involved, Gwen still feels apprehension and unease about her new relationship. She’s never brought a man around Zuma. Gavin has been the only one to have any attachment to the boy and even still Gwen cringes every time they talk.

“Are you gonna tell him?” Blake asks quietly.

“Eventually.”

Blake nods and starts to stand up, tucking himself back in as he does. He doesn't say another word as he runs a hand down his hair and grabs a baseball cap from the dresser, putting it on and walking swiftly out of the bedroom door.

* * *

Blake has a deep, appreciation of mud. It’s always been there, caked under nails, dried in curls, and splattered on clothes. The beach is a close second, the sand a far stretch but appealing nonetheless. While Gwen got ready, Sage asked to go down to the water to tan and while he’s never been particularly interested in sunbathing, he finds there’s something peaceful about the sky, blue and open and vast. It helps that the sun absorbs him in a warm hug as he sits down on a blanket. The grains pass through the tiny cracks in between his toes and heats cold skin.

Zuma is collecting sea shells off to his left and Blake stares after him until Zuma is suddenly running his way, the shells rattling loudly in the bucket Blake gave him. There are a couple of families here as well, and Blake had waved and greeted them with the same goofy smile for the past ten years.

“Blake! Blake look what I found!”

Zuma comes to an abrupt stop right next to him, kicking sand on top of the blanket and quickly swooping down to place the bucket before him. He places a seemingly unconscious hand on Blake’s shoulder to lean most of his weight on him while he stands, shoving his discovery into Blake’s hand. “It's pretty right? I wanna give it to mom; I think she might like it.”

Blake gestures with his hand for Zuma to sit down while he investigates the pink stone. They look at it together and Blake hums thoughtfully. “I know a person who can turn this into a necklace. We can visit them before we leave today if ya want.”

Zuma nods excitedly and takes the stone once again. “Do we have to go back?”

“Unfortunately.”

Zuma sighs, “But I like it here. Adam is awesome and Sage actually talks to me. And mom...she likes it here. She’s smiling all the time and she's happy.”

Blake watches as Zuma’s face turns into a frown, little worry lines running across his forehead. “You like us don't you?”

“Zuma, of course I do.”

“Then let's stay here together.”

Blake sighs, “It doesn't work that way. Maybe...eventually we’ll come back.” Zuma drags his knees up to his chest and Blake can see him physically and emotionally draw further into himself. “Wait do you–…..why don’t you want to go back?”

“It's nothin.” He mumbles into the fold of his arms.

“Tell me,” Blake urges gently but firmly.

Zuma sighs and turns his head away from him. He mumbles something unintelligible and when Blake gives Zuma a minute to compose himself well enough to speak again, Zuma lifts his head and stares at the space behind Blake’s ear.

“What kind of things do people keep secret?" Zuma asks.

Recognition dawns on Blake and he recites the words exactly as when he first spoke them to the boy. "Things they want to keep safe.”

“Some secrets aren't safe to keep." Zuma replies quietly.

“What secret isn't safe to keep, Zuma?” Blake says, after a moment's pause.

Zuma shifts himself a little more upright, winces as if in pain. He tries to tug the two halves of his plaid shirt closed, hunches in on himself as though it offers any protection with most of the buttons missing. It was Blake’s old shirt.

“If we stay here...he won't find us.”

“Who?”

The boy shakes his head. “Whenever he’s around, mom stops smiling. We move after...I don't want to move anymore. I wanna stay here with you and Betty. But mom won't if he shows up again. Please, Blake. Please, can we stay here?” Zuma pleads, the desperation evident on his face.

Blake rubs the boy's back until he finally relaxes at his touch. Blake searches for the soothing words he knows he will not find. “Okay, listen to me. No one is gonna hurt you or your mom. I won't let it happen.”

Zuma shakes his head once again and hugs his knees to his chest more firmly.

“Tell you what, how about I talk to your mom? Alright, I’ll talk to her about staying one more day. And if we can't, you can stay the night at my house or Adam’s if that will make you feel better? Whoever it is, he doesn't know me or my family. He can't find you if you’re with me. That sound good?”

Zuma blinks and then nods.

Blake gives him an encouraging smile and grabs the bucket of sea shells and unique rocks. “We gotta head back in a little so why don't you find as many of these as you can?”

To his credit, Zuma doesn’t look perturbed about the futile suggestion of asking Gwen for another day here. He stands up and picks the bucket up tensely but otherwise seems inclined not to speak of it.

“Why is little man upset?”

Sage’s voice startles him and Blake looks to her and then to the sulking boy now down by the shore.

“It's uh….it's just some stuff.”

“Wow you’re a bad liar.” She sits down next to him on the blanket. “How’s your future wife?” She teases.

“Ha ha.”

Sage smiles at him. “I’m not kidding. Dad said you guys are together.”

“We are,” he cedes, too pleasant in the sunlight to refute or to take offense.

“Is it serious? Like, you seem happier but you also seem a little stressed out.”

“You pay too much attention to my moods.”

“You’re the only uncle I’m actually close to.” She shrugs. “Now, don’t change the subject. I want to know if you’re all right.”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?” It's meant to be teasing as well but Blake knows better.

“She's a mess. But so am I...and I’m not sure if we’ll help clean each other up or help tear each other down until there's an even bigger pile on the floor where two people use to be.”

It takes Blake a moment to hear his niece’s epiphany in the short, terse silence, but once he does, he can’t deny that she knows what he’s suspected for some time now. Thankfully, she also appears to detect that he would rather not ruin his whole day with gloomy talk of the flaws in his and Gwen’s relationship. They had a tenuous beginning and an even rockier preamble. Blake tries not to think about it too closely. It’s not fair to do that when Gwen’s at a disadvantage and can’t catch him in it like she might if they were in the same vicinity of one another.

“Uncle Blake, I know I can be oversentimental for your liking, but maybe you need to hear this more often and I blame dad for being selfish and not telling you.” She flips her hair and leans her head on his shoulder. “You deserve for this relationship with Gwen to work.”

His mouth goes dry and he draws his legs up, mirroring Zuma’s position from earlier. He plants his feet more solidly on the ground.

“Sage.”

“No, hear me out. Gwen is a good person. She’s kind and generous and beautiful inside and out from what I've seen.”

“She’s been hurt, Sage. Far more by life than I ever could...like most women.” And isn't that a thought, he thinks. How women have had it harder, will always have it harder than any man could ever dream.

“All the more for her to understand you and what you’ve been through. You’re prone to losing yourself in your imagination when your head and heart are at odds but Gwen isn't a fantasy. This isn't a dream. Zuma is real, and you have a chance at a family of your own. I'm betting she wants this to work every bit as much as you do, and you would just be stupid to see what you have with her as less than what it is...to treat it as less than what it is.”

“What is it then?” He asks quietly, curiously, unsure of whether he really wants to know.

“Forgiveness,” she says slowly with compassion evident in her voice like it can be when she has a hard truth to relate to him. “You’re forgiving each other. You have blamed yourself long enough for Noah’s death, for how things ended with Miranda. You can't spend the rest of your life punishing yourself. I don't know why Gwen is a mess, but I know you wouldn't think it–say it–without it being the truth. So maybe she needs it to. Forgive yourself. Forgive everyone who’s ever hurt you and Gwen. Forgive each other, not just for the things said and done now, but for the things that you will say and do in the future.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Neither is watching you lose yourself in a man we barely recognize anymore.” She lifts her head up after the words were spoken, catching his gaze with her own as she does. “Listen…I know that you were devastated when Dusty left for college. I know she was like your daughter in more ways than one. You learned devotion from her. You learned how to touch people with kindness because of her. She taught you how to be gracious and how to be genuine. She was the one who taught you that feeling could be enough of a reason to take a chance on a perfect stranger. And now you have. So all I ask is that you let me teach you how to forgive so that you can love this woman. Because loving her will allow you to love yourself.”

Blake murmurs, bewildered as his mind continues to race at a speed unparalleled by her words. “She isn't the only one I think of as a daughter.” It's the only thing he can think to say, because Sage is so wise beyond her years, wiser than him it seems. And he knows he’s never felt the loss of his own children because they were right there in front of him this whole time.

Sage smiles and takes a hold of his hand. “I know.”

“All your life, your instinct has been to stand your ground and never run, even when staying meant pain. And I saw that in you, Sage. I made sure to raise you with that cause it's a strength not everyone is born with.” He pauses and she hears him sigh. “I learned how to survive because of you, Sage. I hope you know that. Dusty is amazing, crazy smart and beautiful. But you’re resilient. Unbreakable in my eyes. Just like your mama.”

Blake watches as Sage touches her stomach with one hand while the other loops under his arm. She buries her face there and Blake knows it's to hide the unshed tears she never cries in front of anyone. She’s done it ever since she was a little girl. Blake leans his head on her’s and watches Zuma walk through the crashing waves, bucket forgotten somewhere in the sand.

The three of them stay there for a couple minutes more and when Blake receives a text from Adam about how kidnapping kids is a felony, he gathers the kids and their belongings for the walk back.

On the way, Blake takes them to Cynthia’s house and asks if she can make the stone into a necklace for Gwen. The older woman smiles coyly at him but does it free of charge to Blake’s dismay. He buys chocolates for Sage and Zuma in the little seafood shack off the bay and brings back lobster tacos for lunch. When they arrive home with several bags, Adam is scratching away on a piece of paper with a pen in his hand and a guitar in the other–Blake’s guitar, the older man notices. Gwen is sat next to him, clothed in a soft, lovely, pink dress, a pair of black glasses perched on her face. Zuma runs over to his mom to show her the present and Blake takes the opportunity to get his thoughts in order in the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and stores the bags of sweets inside one of the drawers neatly. He looks up every so often to see Sage reading over her father’s lyrics and Gwen listening intently to Zuma talking. It's only after a couple of minutes that Gwen excuses herself from the living room and makes her way over to him.

“That’s a lot of chocolate," she says.

"They can take it with them when we go back."

Blake ignores her intense gaze as he begins removing the food from the paper bag on the counter. Gwen slides in beside him and touches the rim of her glasses. She takes them off and puts them on his own face. The view changes slightly.

“You don’t seem yourself."

“I’m fine.”

“Blake.”

He sighs and folds the glasses, leaving them on the counter. Gwen sees the stress in his eyes and loops one arm around Blake’s shoulders. "Come here."

Blake doesn't resist as she pulls him into a hug, this one a little more awkward than the others because they weren’t quite facing each other. Gwen has one arm around his shoulders and the other around his ribs. Blake’s arms remain hanging at his sides, but Gwen can feel his breath.

"Zuma knows.”

He knows it's the wrong thing to say before he even says it. Gwen pulls away, but she doesn’t let go; her right hand on Blake’s shoulder.

“He doesn't wanna go back because he thinks your ex will find you. And then you'll move again and Zuma doesn't want to move anymore.”

Gwen lets her hand fall away. "He doesn't–I’ve never let him–”

“See it? Hear it? He doesn't have to, to know that something’s wrong, Gwen.” He keeps his voice low, mindful of the people in the other room. Their backs are turned away from the couple but Blake wants to be as discreet as possible. “He wants to stay and I know we can't do that. But I told him I'd ask you.”

“No.” Gwen declares, an unbearable darkness swelling up in her heart. “We can't hide here.”

“Gwen–”

“No. I can't.” Her nostrils flare. “I’m–for the first time I’m happy. I have hope. I want to feel this for as long as I can. So no. We’re not hiding here. We’re going back, together. Just like you want–like I want. Let him find us. You said you’d protect me, right? Me and Zuma.”

“With every thing I have.”

“Then do it. Show us what you promised.”

Blake’s eyes are a dark blue and fathomless. He’s close enough that Gwen can smell his breath and feel his body heat, but Blake's skin doesn’t so much as brush her’s.

The look in his eyes takes her breath away and Gwen doesn’t dare try to breathe as she brings her hand up to close around Blake’s fingers. He does not move an inch. She looks at his chest and thinks she can see right through him to his heart, an organ with four chambers, three of which have already been occupied. She hopes the fourth has room for her and her son. And she hopes so desperately that it does, because it would fit so well in Gwen’s palm. She contemplates it for a moment, while Blake just stands there and breathes. She also hopes he understands what she’s asking of him.

Finally, she places her left hand against Blake’s chest. He stops breathing. Blake touches her thumb to the knuckle of her ring finger, his eyes tracking Gwen. Looking for something she knows isn’t going to be there. Gwen nods. He swallows around a thick lump in his throat and wraps both his hands around Gwen’s. Firm and warm.

There's room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -JL


End file.
